FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 

REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED   BY  HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


MARY  DOW,  p.  48. 


tl  OF  Hi 


"4 


^  *-!'  ' U334 


* 


HYMNS 


OTHER     POEMS 


CHILDREN. 


BY    HANNAH    F.    GOULD 


WITH       ILLUSTRATION 


BOSTON: 
WILLIAM     J.     REYNOLDS    &    CO 
1  854. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854, 

BY  H.   F.  GOULD, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of 

Massachusetts. 


GEO.  0.  BAUD,  PRINTER,  C0RNH1LL,  BOSTON. 


CONTENTS. 


Day  Hymn -^age     7 

Star  Hymn 8 

Little  Friends  OF  JESUS 9 

Tm    Sabbath 12 

Tin     GoLDEK    Min-ii:ii 13 

Sabbath  School  Hymn 15 

God  in  tui:  TiuM'i  i:  Stobm 16 

lii i   Lad  with  the  Loaves  and  Fishes, 17 

Emma's  Dbbam, 19 

Tin.  LrrTLB  Cake. 22 

Tm    Dying  Child's  Reqeest, 26 

The  Hill-side   Flower, 28 

Ti  \  i  mi  i  IfissiONABT    Hymn, 30 

Tm    Little  Glbaiibb 31 

Tin.  Child  and  the  H<>m:y-Bee, 33 

The  Meadow  Violet, 35 

The  Rose  Tree, 37 

Children   Praying, 40 

TnE   Spider, 42 

The  Dew y  Flower, 45 

Falsehood  Forbidden, 47 

Maky    Dow, 48 

Maky 51 

Tin.  I'm  i  i-Tree  Blossom, 54 

I  m:  BntD'S  Hymn, 55 

Tin.   BlBD    -i  r    l'i:ri 58 

Tin    Little  Maid  of  [sbaei 59 

im.  Sobbowful  Yellow  Bled, 64 

The  Little  Floweb  Gabdeh, 66 

I  hi.  Lost  Btactbth, 70 


The  Winter  King, 72 

The  Boy  and  the  Flowers, 76 

Eobin,  Sing  to  Me, 78 

The  Children  at  the   Oak, 79 

The  Sparrow, 86 

The  Good  Doll, 88 

The  Robin's  Song, 90 

The  Child  and  the  Fire-Fly, 92 

The  Bikd's  Home, 94 

The  Broken  Pipe, 95 

The  Peach  Blossoms, 98 

The  Bird's  Maternal  Care, 100 

The   Wheat   Field, 104 

The  White  Anemone. 106 

Pic-Nic  Hymn, 107 

The  Fly  under  the  Lamp  Shade, 109 

The  Bible  in  the  Fields, 110 

Writing  in  Helen's  Album, 113 

Lady  Mary, 115 

The  Trammelled  Fly, 118 

The  White  Moth, 120 

Little  Ellen  and  her  Broken  Basket, 122 

To  Adelaide, 125 

The  Snow  Flake, 126 

The  Widow's  Only  Son, 129 

The  Child's  Hymn  to  Spring, 132 

The  Mariner's  Orphan, 134 

The  Despoiled  Humming  Bird, 137 

Teachings  of  God, 140 

The  Man  and  the  Mountain, 142 

Poor  Marianna, 144 

The  White   Cottage, 149 

Patty  Proud, 153 

The  Young  Benefactor, 157 


HYMNS 

OTHER   POEMS 

FOR     CHILDREN. 


D  A  Y      H  Y  M  N  . 

When  morn  hath  round  our  pillow  shed 

Her  pure  and  precious  light, 
We  must  not  idly  keep  our  bed, 

That  gave  us  rest  by  night. 
We  must  arise  our  God  to  praise, 

Who  kept  us  while  we  lay  : 
And  ask  his  care  through  all  the  w 

He  marks  for  us  by  day. 

When,  shining  in  his  noontide  power. 

We  see  the  golden  sun, 
We  should  review  each  by-gone  hour 

Of  day.  for  what  we've  done. 
We  should  aspire  our  hearts  to  lift 

nis  glorious  height  above  ; 
And  from  our  Maker  seek  the  gift 

Of  sun-like  truth  and  love. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


When  falling  shades  and  evening  dew 

The  earth  in  silence  veil, 
We  should  to  Him  our  prayer  renew 

Whose  mercies  never  fail ! 
We  must  in  God  fold  up  our  hearts 

Ere  slumber  seal  our  eyes  ; 
And  trust  —  when  sleep  at  morn  departs, 

In  him  to  wake  and  rise. 


STAR      HYMN. 

From  its  home  so  high  and  far, 
There's  a  little  twinkling  star, 
Down  through  evening  shades  and  damp, 
Beaming,  like  a  diamond  lamp ! 

Soft  as  angel  ministry 
Doth  its  lustre  come  to  me  ; 
While  to  God,  who  holds  it  there, 
I  address  my  soul  in  prayer. 

Clouds  may  rise  and  intervene 
Me  and  that  dear  star  between  : 


POEMS      FOR      CHILD  R EN 


While,  unchanged,  the  star  will  be 
True  to  heaven,  and  true  to  me. 

Sinful  thoughts  may  thus  arise 
In  my  soul,  and  o'er  my  eyes 
Bring  a  vapor,  that  will  hide 
God's  bright  angel  at  my  side ! 

May  the  penitential  tear 
Then  my  clouded  vision  clear, 
And  my  drooping  spirit  feel 
Christ  apply  the  pardon-seal ! 

Now  that  peaceful  star  on  high, 
Like  an  angel  watcher's  eye, 
Do  I  love  to  know  will  keep 
Beaming  o'er  me  while  I  sleep. 


LITTLE    FRIENDS    OF    JESUS. 

Young  children  sang  "  Hosanna  !  " 
Where  Jesus  drew  the  throng ; 

The  palm-branch  was  their  banner, 
And  angelfl  taught  their  song. 


10  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Those  little  prompt  believers 
In  Christ,  their  Lord  and  King, 

Were  of  the  first  receivers 
Of  joy  he  came  to  bring. 

And  their  sweet  infant  story, 

That  now  so  fresh  appears. 
Has  given  their  Savior  glory 

These  eighteen  hundred  years. 
Whilst  they  the  palm-branch  bearing, 

When  Christ  on  earth  was  found, 
Bright  crowns  in  Heaven  are  wearing, 

And  sing  his  throne  around. 

Though  there  his  brightness  falleth 

On  saint  and  seraphim, 
On  earth  he  sweetly  calleth 

The  little  ones  to  him. 
He  loves  the  hearts  of  childhood 

Made  his  by  faith  and  prayer  ; 
As  we,  from  heath  and  wild  wood 

Love  flowers  for  our  parterre. 

Each  gift  —  each  word  that's  spoken 
To  spread  his  kingdom  here, 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  11 


Be  treasures  as  a  token 

Of  love  to  him  sincere. 
And,  little  sons  and  daughters 

Of  happy  Christian  land, 
Know  ye,  beyond  the  waters, 

What  heathen  idols  stand? 

There  heathen  children  never 

The  name  of  Jesus  heard ! 
They  have  no  hope  forever, 

Unless  they  learn  his  word. 
If  yours  be  love's  confidings 

In  him,  his  love  proclaim  : 
Send  out  the  glorious  tidings 

Of  life  in  Jesus'  name. 

Twill,  as  your  signal  palmy, 

Be  witnessed  from  on  high, 
And  yield  an  unction  balmy 

To  souls  that  else  would  die. 
0,  send  the  heavenly  manna, 

The  "  bread  of  life  "  to  them, 
That  they  may  sing  "  Hosanna  " 

In  New  Jerusalem. 


12     POEMS   FOR   CHILDREN 


THE   SABBATH. 

Day  of  days,  the  dearest,  best ; 
Hallowed  by  Jehovah's  rest ! 
When  his  six  day's  work  was*  done, 
Holy  rose  the  seventh  sun. 

When  creation's  pillars  stood, 
And  the  Lord  pronounced  them  good, 
Morning  stars  together  sang  — 
Heaven  with  sabbath  praises  rang. 

Earth  in  pristine  beauty  shone, 
Like  a  gem,  before  his  throne, 
While  he  marked  thee  as  his  claim, 
And  baptized  thee  with  his  name. 

Choice  of  God,  thou  blessed  day ! 
At  thy  dawn  the  grave  gave  way 
To  the  power  of  him  within, 
Who  had,  sinless,  bled  for  sin. 

Thine  the  radiance  to  illume 
First,  for  man,  the  dismal  tomb, 
When  its  bars  their  weakness  owned, 
There  revealing  death  dethroned. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  13 


Then  the  "  Sun  of  Righteousness," 
Rose  a  darkened  world  to  bless, 
Bringing  up  from  mortal  night, 
Immortality  and  light. 


THE      GOLDEN      MINSTREL. 

Where,  from  thousand  honey-springs, 
Opening  blossoms  feed  the  bee, 

Some  melodious  warbler  sings, 
Bosomed  deep  in  yonder  tree. 

On  the  breeze  the  music  floats 
With  the  perfume  of  the  flower, 

Pouring  forth  in  mellow  notes 
From  the  lovely  minstrel's  bower. 

'Mid  the  leaves  and  clustered  bloom, 
Where  to  shroud  his  dress  he  stole, 

Now  appears  his  golden  plume  ; 
Tis  a  brilliant  Oriole. 

Little  jewel !  hidden  there, 

Still  he  had  remained  concealed, 

Had  not  that  mellifluous  air 
Thus  his  covert  form  revealed. 


14  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Not  to  win  himself  a  name 

Would  he  so  his  powers  display  ; 

Nor  to  swell  a  creature's  fame  ; 
'Tis  to  God  he  pours  the  lay. 

Oft  it  seems  as  if  the  birds 

Came  with  lessons  sweet  to  man  ; 

That  to  pure,  unwritten  words 
Their  delicious  music  ran. 

Ever  seem  they  to  rejoice, 
In  the  sunshine,  or  the  showers  ; 

Gratitude  attunes  their  voice 
Unto  Him  who  gave  their  powers. 

Under  blue  or  sombre  sky, 
On  the  bough  or  in  the  dust, 

They've  a  bright  and  cheerful  eye, 
And  a  heart  of  truth  and  trust. 


In  his  leafy,  calm  retreat, 
Like  a  happy  human  soul 

Si  aging  at  its  Father's  feet, 
Is  the  lovely  Oriole. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  15 


Sweet  as  incense  up  the  skies, 
Welcome  to  his  Maker's  ear, 

Roll  the  artless  melodies 

From  the  little  warbler  here. 


SABBATH      SCHOOL      HYMN. 

Our  Father,  who  art  throned  above. 

As  heaven's  eternal  king, 
So  high  !  thou  still  from  earth  dost  love 

The  praise  a  child  may  sing. 

Then  lend,  we  pray,  a  listening  ear, 

Whilst  we,  an  infant  throng, 
Unite  our  feeble  voices  here 

To  lift  the  grateful  song ! 

We  bless  thee  for  thy  goodness  known  ; 

We  bless  thee  for  our  trust, 
That  still  thou'lt  guard  us  from  thy  throne, 

Though  we  are  in  the  dust. 

With  thanks  for  all  thy  kindness,  Lord, 

We  give  thee  highest  praise. 
That  we  possess  thy  sacred  Word, 

And  holy  Sabbath  d 

i 


16  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


A  Savior  by  that  blessed  Book 
We  find,  who  loved  us  so, 

He  laid  his  glory  by,  and  took 
An  infant's  form  below ! 

He  died  but  for  the  sins  of  those 
Who'd  be  through  him  forgiven  : 

Then  on  the  Sabbath  morn  he  rose 
To  lead  our  hearts  to  Heaven. 


GOD      IN      THE      THUNDER      STORM. 
"The  God  of  glory  thundereth."  —  Ps.  xxtx:3- 

When  peals  the  thunder  long  and  loud, 
The  Lord  is  speaking  from  the  cloud. 
Whilst  they  who  know  him  not,  may  fear, 
His  children  love  his  voice  to  hear. 
And  though  it  sound  in  noise  and  storm, 
His  love  but  takes  the  varied  form  ; 
To  give  them  purer  vital  breath, 
'  The  God  of  glory  thundereth." 

When  lightnings  flash  from  out  the  sky, 
It  is  the  Lord  who  passeth  by, 

% 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  17 


With  brightness  from  his  holy  throne, 
In  gleamings  on  his  raiment  shown. 
His  splendor  may  the  sinner  awe  ; 
But  they  who  know  and  love  his  law. 
Recall  his  Word  of  life,  that  saith 
1  The  God  of  glory  thundereth." 

At  last,  when  scenes  of  life  shall  end, 
And  Christ  arrayed  in  power  descend 
His  voice  will  rend  the  silent  tomb  ; 
His  lightnings  every  eye  relume  ! 
His  friends,  in  that  august  review, 
Will  shine  with  joy  his  friends  anew  ; 
While,  with  the  keys  of  life  and  death 
'  The  God  of  glory  thundereth." 


THE      LAD      WITH      THE      LOAVES 

AND      FISHES. 

"  There  is  a  lad  here,  which  hath  five  barley  loaves   and  two 
6mall  fishes.*'  — St.  Johx,  vi  :  &. 

When  by  Christ  the  throng  were  led 
Up  the  lonely  mountain's  ^ide, 

Where  the  multitude  were  fed, 
Who  the  wondrous  food  supplied  ? 

B 


18  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Those  five  haves  and  fishes  two, 
Which  for  thousands  were  to  do  — 
Who  the  loaves  and  fishes  brought 
Whence  the  miracle  was  wrought  ? 

Wife,  nor  maid,  nor  mother  then 
Might  the  rural  feast  prepare  ; 
Not  the  young,  nor  white-haired  men 

Should  provide  the  timely  fare. 
But  a  little  Christian  boy 
For  the  work  did  Christ  employ, 
Pleased,  his  host  of  friends  among, 
To  distinguish  one  so  young. 

Still  doth  Jesus  love  to  count 

Young  disciples,  fair  and  true, 
Like  the  lad  upon  the  mount 

Where  his  early  friends  he  drew. 
Every  little  gift  or  deed 
He  can  bless,  like  planted  seed, 
Or  the  barley-loaves  of  old, 
To  increase  a  thousand  fold. 

Though  your  gift  be  but  a  mite 
Spared  to  send  his  word  afar, 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  19 


It  may  prove  a  ray  of  light 

Spread  and  brightened  to  a  star ! 
This  the  star  of  morn  may  be 
O'er  some  land  beyond  the  sea, 
Opening  up  the  shining  way 
Of  the  peaceful  gospel  day. 

Little  friends  of  Jesus,  aim, 

While  your  life  is  in  the  flower, 
With  his  spirit,  in  his  name, 

To  commend  his  love  and  power. 
Emulate  the  Hebrew  lad, 
Who,  imparting  what  he  had, 
Saw  the  wonders  Christ  could  do, 
And  the  moral  left  to  you. 


EMMA'S      DREAM. 

My  little  contribution, 

With  ready  heart  and  hand, 

I  gave,  to  send  the  Word  of  God 
To  distant  heathen  land  : 


And  ere  I  went  to  rest  that  night, 
I  kneeled  to  God  in  prayer, 

That  he  would  change  my  gift  to  light 
For  souls  in  darkness  there. 


When  I  was  lost  in  slumber, 
There  seemed  just  o'er  my  bed, 

An  angel  child,  with  beaming  brow 
And  shining  wings  out-spread  ; 

And  stainless  seemed  the  robe  to  flow 
About  that  lovely  one, 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  21 


1 


As  lies  a  glowing  sheet  of  snow 
Beneath  the  morning  sun. 

A  touch  of  golden  glory 

Was  on  her  wavy  hair  ; 
Her  face,  with  rose-tint  on  the  cheek. 

Was  like  the  lily  fair. 
And  oh  !  she  sang  a  holy  song, 

Which  angels  only  know 
To  sound  in  their  adoring  throng  ; 

And  never  learnt  below  ! 

She  told  a  hasty  story 

About  her  life  on  earth, 
When  here  a  little  dark  Hindoo, 

Of  distant  Indian  birth  : 
That  once  her  parents  were  of  those 

Who  God  in  Ganges  deem, 
Where  oft  her  babe  the  mother  throws. 

An  offering,  on  the  stream  : 

But  when  the  missions  taught  them 
To  read  the  word,  and  pray 

To  God  in  Heaven,  through  Jesus'  name, 
Their  gods  were  cast  away  ; 


22  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


That  e'er  she  died,  she  loved  to  sing 
How  Christ  for  her  could  die  : 

And  then  he  gave  her  spirit  wing 
To  soar  to  him  on  high. 

I  drew  my  breath,  to  ask  her 

About  the  joys  above  ; 
When  silently  she  disappeared, 

With  parting  smile  of  love ! 
Awaking  then,  I  prayed  for  more 

That  I  might  send  away 
To  shed  upon  some  heathen  shore 

The  beams  of  gospel  day. 


THE     LITTLE     CAKE;     A     SCRIPTURE 
STORY. 

When  o'er  ancient  Israel, 
Ahab  reigned,  with  Jezebel, 
Fearful  things  the  land  befell, 

From  their  pagan  sway  : 
Prophets  of  the  Lord  were  slain  ; 
Altars  reared  to  idols  vain  : 


I'Dl'MS      FOR      CHILDRKN.  23 


Sins  were  known,  to  earth  a  stain 
Never  washed  away. 

Ahab's  bold  Zidonian  wife 
Still  pursued  the  vengeful  strife, 
Thirsting  for  Elijah's  life, 

Whom  the  Lord  had  sent, 
On  the  land  denouncing  woe 
Which  the  king  and  queen  would  show, 
For  the  blood  they'd  caused  to  flow. 

What  his  threatenings  meant. 

But  the  way  the  Prophet  took, 
Shown  of  God,  to  Cherith  brook. 
Where,  in  secret  cave  or  nook. 

He  pursuit  would  shun. 
Ravens,  as  the  Lord  had  said. 
Daily  then,  with  meat  and  bread. 
Night  and  morning  came  and  fed 

There,  the  lonely  one. 

Ministers  of  God  were  they, 
Wafting  on  their  airy  way 
Food  his  servant's  life  to  stay 
In  his  drear  retreat : 


24  POEMS      FOE      CHILDREN 


Till,  as  he  had  prophesied, 
Dew  and  rain  to  earth  denied 
Seared  the  grass,  the  streamlets  dried, 
As  by  torrid  heat.    . 

He  who  once  a  world  could  drown, 
Now  upon  his  foes  sent  down 
Drought  and  famine,  in  his  frown, 

Through  the  kingdom  spread. 
, Flock  and  herd,  for  drink  and  feed, 
Pined  and  died  on  hill  and  mead  ; 
Man,  too,  fell,  for  broke  indeed 

Was  his  staff  of  bread. 

From  his  covert  sad  and  low, 

God  then  bade  Elijah  go, 

On  a  way  that  he  would  show, 

And  protect  his  path. 
Rough  the  road  he  traveled  o'er, 
Till  a  gate  he  stood  before 
Near  a  widow's  humble  door, 

Down  in  Zarephath. 

She  was  out,  and  looking  round, 
Picking  fuel  from  the  ground, 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  25 


When  sin*  hoard  the  startling  sound 
Of  the  stranger's  feet, 
"  Give  me  drink:'  Elijah  said, 
11  And  a  morsel  of  your  bread  ; 
Ere  my  fainting  life  hath  fled, 
Let  me  drink  and  eat !  " 


•■  A.S  the  Lord  doth  live,"  quoth  she, 
"  For  my  famished  son  and  me, 
In  our  keen  necessity, 

Only  left  have  I 
Little  oil,  and  meal  to  make 
For  us  twain  a  little  cake, 
Which  I  gather  sticks  to  bake, 
That  we  eat,  and  die  !  " 


Still  the  Prophet  urged  his  plea, 
Water  bring,  and  bread,  to  me  ; 
Haste  with  these  !  and  then  for  thee 

And  thy  son  provide." 
Quick  the  cup  his  thirst  to  slake 
Then  she  brought ;  she  sped  to  bake ; 
And  the  ready  little  cake 

Soon  his  want  Bnpplied. 


26  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


From  that  hour  her  care  had  ceased  : 


She,  from  want  and  fear  released, 
Saw  her  meal  and  oil  increased  ; 

Ever  full,  her  store. 
God,  who  saw  her  feeling  heart. 
Trustful,  void  of  self  and  art, 
Prompt  her  morsel  to  impart, 

Blessed  her  evermore. 

Holy  men,  on  heathen  ground, 
Now  the  Gospel  trump  would  sound 
More,  could  means  of  life  be  found 

For  their  distant  way. 
But  the  needful  little  cake  — 
Who  for  this  the  price  will  take 
From  his  store,  for  Jesus'  sake, 

Trusting  God  for  pay  ? 


THE      DYING      CHILD'S      REQUEST. 

A  little  boy,  laid  sick  and  low, 
Looked  up  with  languid  eye, 

And  spake  as  one  who  seemed  to  know 
He  now  was  called  to  die. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  27 


Be  said,  "Dear  mother,  do  not  grieve 
That  I  must  Leave  you  here  ; 

For  you.  and  every  friend  I  leave, 
Will  theu  be  doubly  dear. 

"  There's  something  tells  me  I  must  go 
Where  Christ  prepares  a  home, 
To  which  you  all.  left  now  below, 
In  little  while  shall  come. 

"  To  brother  —  sister —  playmates  too, 
Some  gift  I'd  leave  behind, 
To  keep  me,  when  I've  passed  from  view, 
Still  present  to  their  mind. 

••  You  '11  thus  to  them  my  books  divide, 
My  playthings  give  away  ; 
So  they  '11  remember  how  I  died, 
When  not  so  old  as  they. 

11  Then  from  my  money-box  you  '11  take 
The  little  coins  within, 
To  use  as  means,  for  Jesus'  sake, 
In  turning  souls  from  sin. 

••  T would  make  the  heavenly  hosts  rejoice, 
And  sing  to  Jesus'  name, 


28  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 

To  hear  some  little  heathen's  voice 
His  saving  love  proclaim. 

"  My  breath  is  faint  —  I'm  dark  and  chill 
Soft  wings  seem  hovering  nigh  : 
Come,  all,  and  promise  me,  you  still 
Will  love  me,  if  I  die. 

"  Oh,  mother !  tell  me  —  what  is  this  ? 
Your  forms  I  cannot  see ! 
Come,  each,  and  warm  me  with  a  kiss  ; 
The  angels  bend  for  me !  " 

The  morning  sun  shone  in,  to  light 
The  chamber  where  he  lay  ; 

The  soul  that  made  that  form  so  bright, 
To  Heaven  had  passed  away. 


THE      HILL- SIDE      FLOWER. 

Flower  upon  the  green  hill-side, 
Thou,  to  shun  the  threatening  blast, 

In  the  grass  thy  head  dost  hide, 
By  the  tempest  overpast. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  29 


Then  to  greet  the  azure  skies, 
And  to  feel  the  soothing  sun, 

Brighter  —  sweeter  —  dost  thou  rise! 
Tell  me,  flower,  how  this  is  done ! 

I  will  tell  thee,  as  a  friend, 

Artless  —  timid  —  whispering  low  ; 
At  the  blast  'tis  good  to  bend ! 

He  who  made  me,  taught  me  so. 

While  his  teaching  I  obey, 
I  but  fall  to  rise,  and  stand, 

Brighter  for  the  stormy  day, 
Leaning  on  his  viewless  hand. 

When  to  him  I've  lowly  bowed, 
He  with  freshness  fills  my  cup 

From  the  angry,  scowling  cloud  ; 
Gently  then  he  lifts  me  up. 

So  I  sink,  —and  so  I  rise- — 
In  the  dark  or  sunny  hour, 

Minding  him  who  rules  the  skies  :  — 
He's  my  God  ;  and  I'm  his  flower !  " 


30  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


JUVENILE      MISSIONARY      HYMN. 

[  Written  for  a  sewing-circle  of  little  girls,  preparing  articles 
for  an  annual  sale  ;  the  proceeds  of  which  were  for  the  support 
of  two  African  children.] 

"  Come  over  here  and  help  us !  " 

That  Macedonian  cry, 
From  dusky  Afric  do  we  hear  ; 

Nor  can  our  aid  deny. 
We  '11  send  our  angel,  Charity, 

Beyond  the  deep  to  sow  : 
As  mustard  seed  our  gift  may  be, 

A  thriving  tree  to  grow. 

Its  green  and  spreading  branches 

May  flourish,  high  and  fair, 
Till  comes  the  bird  of  Paradise 

To  plume  her  bosom  there. 
The  little  Ethiop's  mind,  beneath 

Its  shadow  fresh  and  free, 
The  wreath  may  twine  —  the  balm  may 
breathe 

Of  Immortality ! 

Though  on  the  distant  waters  — 
That  others  may  be  fed,  — 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  31 

Of  Niger,  Nile,  or  Senegal, 

In  faith  we  cast  our  bread  ; 

As  rivers  from  their  sources  flow, 
Increasing  as  they  roll, 

'Twill  spring  and  spread  with  power,  and 
grow, 
To  stay  the  famished  soul ! 

Whilst  here  we  ply  the  needle, 

That  heathen  lands  may  win 
The  seamless  garment  Christ  hath  wrought, 

To  clothe  the  spirit  in  ; 
Whoe'er  but  gives  a  widow's  mite, 

Or  breathes  a  Christian  prayer, 
Will  speed  our  happy  angel's  flight 

To  waft  our  offering  there. 


THE      LITTLE      GLEANER. 

Whilst  here  we're  busy  gleaning  — 
The  little  birds  and  I,— 

The  heavy  sheaves  are  leaning 
Together,  bright  and  dry. 

The  word  that  God  hath  spoken 
In  favor  of  the  poor, 


32  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


So  kindly,  can't  be  broken  ; 
It  is  forever  sure  ! 

'Tis  lie  who  hath  commanded 

The  reaper  of  the  grain, 
When  going  oft  full-handed, 

To  let  some  ears  remain.* 
By  this  our  Heavenly  Father, 

Reveals  it,  as  his  will, 
That  we  some  bread  may  gather, 

Who  have  no  fields  to  till. 

The  little  birds  and  mother 

And  I  are  poor  indeed ! 
And  I've  an  infant  brother 

For  her  to  tend  and  feed. 
So  I,  their  little  Lizzie, 

Do  all  that  in  me  lies, 
By  keeping  ever  busy, 

To  furnish  their  supplies. 

My  father,  gone  to  Heaven, 
Our  wants  he  does  not  know  : 

And  leave  to  me  is  given 
To  glean  the  fields  below. 

*  See  Leviticus,  xix.  9. 


POEMS      PQB      CHILDREN.  33 


And  want  will  ne'er  destroy  as, 
While  these  young  hands  can  toil ; 

And  mother  talk  so  joyous 
About  the  widovts  oil ! 

The  widow  that  we  read  of, 
Who  baked  the  '  little  cake" 

From  meal  herself  had  need  of, 

For  good  Elijah V  sake  ! 
She  could  nut  ><'iid.  without  it. 

The  stranger  off  distressed  — 
But  you  know  all  about  it ; 

How  God  her  barrel  blessed ! 

When  all  alone  Fm  gleaning, 

I  fancy  I  can  feel 
And  understand  the  meaning 

Of  that  increase  of  meal. 
Our  God  will  ne'er  forsake  us 

Till  we  forsake  his  way  ! 
And  here's  enough  to  make  us 

Our  little  cake  to-day. 


THE     CHILD     AND    THE     HONEY    BEE. 

Come  here,  little  bee  ! 
There  are  sweet  flowers  by  me  : 
c 


34  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


Come,  and  just  let  me  see 
How  your  honey  is  made. 
"  Oh !  I  can't ;  for  I  fear 
That,  for  coming  too  near 
I  should  pay  very  dear  ; 
I'm  afraid  !     I'm  afraid  ! ' 


0,  feel  no  alarm  ! 

Not  a  wing  nor  an  arm  — 

Not  a  part  will  I  harm, 

While  you're  sipping  your  fill. 
Pretty  maid,  then  I'll  come 
Close  beside  you,  and  hum  ; 
And  you  shall  have  some 

Of  the  sweets  I  distil." 


My  trust  then  is  free, 
Just  as  yours  is  to  me  ; 
But,  be  sure,  little  bee, 

Not  to  give  me  your  sting  ! 
Oh,  no,  no  !  since  I  flew 
From  the  cell  where  I  grew, 
None  has  known  me  to  do 

So  ungrateful  a  thing  !  " 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  :;") 


Then,  why  thus  supplied 
With  a  sting,  but  to  liide 
And  to  keep  aever  tried, 

Out  of  Bight  ?  cunning  bee  ! 
"  He  who  gave  me  the  sting, 
And  the  swift  gauzy  wing, 
Bids  me  not  harm  a  thing 

That  would  not  injure  me." 


THE      MEADOW      VIOLET. 

Violet,  violet,  sparkling  with  dew  ! 

Down  in  the  meadow-land  wild  where  you 

grew, 
Bow  did  yon  come  by  the  beautiful  blue 

In  which  your  soft  petals  unfold  ? 
And  how  do  you  hold  up  your  tender  young 

head, 
When  rude  sweeping  winds  rush  along  o'er 

your  bed, 
Or  dark,  gloomy  clouds,  ranging  over  you, 

shed 
Their  waters,  all  heavy  and  cold  ? 


36  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 

For  no  one  has  nursed  you  or  watched  you 

an  hour, 
Or   found   you   a   place   in   the  garden  or 

bower  ; 
But  art  cannot  yield  me  so  lovely  a  flower 

As  here  I  have  found  at  my  feet ! 
0,  speak,  my  sweet  violet !  answer,  and  tell 
How  thus  you've  grown  up,  and  flourished 

so  well, 
And  live  so  contented,   where   lowly   you 

dwell, 
And  we  now  by  accident  meet ! 

"  The  same  careful  hand,"  the  meek  violet 

said, 
"  That  holds  up  the  firmament,  holds  up  my 

head  ! 
And  He  who  with  azure  the  skies  overspread, 

Has  painted  the  violet  blue. 
He  sprinkles  the  stars   out,  above  me  by 

night ; 
And  sends  down  the  sunbeams  at  morning, 

with  light 
To  make  my   new   coronet   sparkling   and 

bright, 
When  formed  of  a  drop  of  his  dew. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  37 


••  And   Pve   naught   to    fear  from   the  dark 
heavy  cloud, 

Or  breath  of  the  tempest,  that  comes  strong 
and  loud, 

Where,  born  in  the  lowland,  remote  from 
the  crowd. 
I  know  and  I  live  but  for  ONE. 

11.'  booh  forms  a  mantle  about  me  to  cast, 

Of  long  silken  grass,  till  the  rain  and  the 
blast, 

And  all  that  seemed  threatening  have  harm- 
lessly past, 
And  clouds  scud  before  the  warm  sun  !  " 


THE      ROSE      TREE. 

-tree,  0  my  beauteous  rose-tree  ! 
Often  have  I  longed  to  know 
I  low  thy  tender  leaves  were  moulded  — 
How  thy  buds  are  burst,  and  blow. 

I  have  watered,  sunned,  and  trained  thee. 
And  have  watched  thee  many  an  hour  ; 


38  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Yet  I  never  could  discover 
How  a  bud  becomes  a  flower. 

So,  last  night,  I  thought  about  thee 

On  my  pillow,  till  at  last 
I  was  gone  in  quiet  slumber, 

And  a  dream  before  me  passed. 

In  it,  I  beheld  my  rose-tree 

Stripped  of  flower,  and  bud  and  leaf, 
While  thy  naked  stalk  and  branches 

Filled  me  with  surprise  and  grief. 

Then,  methought,  I  wept  to  see  thee 
Spoiled  of  all  that  made  thee  dear. 

Till  a  band  of  smiling  angels 
Mildly  shining,  hovered  near. 

Gently  as  they  gathered  round  thee 

All  in  silence,  one  of  them 
Laid  his  fair,  soft  fingers  on  thee, 

Pulling  leaves  from  out  the  stem. 

One  by  one  thy  twigs  he  furnished 
With  a  dress  of  foliage  green ; 


-      FOB      CHILDB  E  N  .  39 


While  another  angel  followed, 
Bringing  bnda  the  leaves  between. 


Then  came  one  the  buds  to  open  :  — 
Il«'  their  Bilken  rolls  unsheathed, 
Whilst  the  one  who  tints  the  ros 

Through  their  opening  foldings  breathed. 


Then  the  angel  of  the  odors 

Filled  each  golden-bottomed  cell, 

Till,  between  the  parting  petal-. 
Free  on  air  the  fragrance  fell. 


Lifting  then  their  shining  pinions, 
Quick  the  angels  passed  from  sight. 

Leaving,  where  aloft  they  vanished. 
But  a  stream  of  fading  light. 

There  I  heard  sweet  Btrains  of  music, 

And  their  voices  far  above, 
I>ying  in  the  azure  distance, 
Naming  thee  a  Gift  of  Love! 

And  my  m<e-tree  stood  before  me, 
Finished  thus  by  an<rcl  hand-  :  — 


40  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


Perfect  in  its  bloom  and  fragrance  — 
Beautiful,  as  now  it  stands  ! 

Hence,  whenever  I  behold  thee, 
I  shall  think  of  angels  too  ; 

And  the  countless  works  of  goodness 
They  descend  on  earth  to  do. 

All  unseen  and  silent,  round  us, 
Careful  they  their  watches  keep, 

Whether  we  may  wake,  or  slumber ; 
Guardian  angels  never  sleep  ! 


CHILDREN      PRAYING. 

Little  children,  when  you  pray. 
"  Father,  hallowed  be  thy  name  ! 
Do  you  think,  the  words  you  say 
From  the  lips  of  Jesus  came  ? 
Uttered  not  with  soul  sincere, 
They  offend  his  holy  ear  ; 
But,  if  from  the  heart  they  rise, 
They're  as  incense  to  the  skies. 


MS      FOB      CHILDREN.  41 


When  you  pray.  "Thy kingdom  come!' 
Would  you  have  ii  every  where  ? 

If  you  do  but  think  of  homo. 

Tia  a  vain  and  empty  prayer. 
When  you  ask  "  Thy  will  be  done;" 

ry  where  btneath  the  sun  ! 
Should  a  voice  within  you  say. 
Or  your  lips  be  mute,  that  pray. 

When  you  ask  for  "  daily  bread," 

And  your  "  trespasses  "  forgiven. 
Would  you  have  all  people  fed ; 

Every  soul  made  heir  of  heaven  ? 
Then,  you  '11  strive  his  name  to  spread, 
Who  of  life  can  give  the  bread ; 
Onlv  through  whose  love  can  be 
Souls  from  sin,  for  Heaven  made  free. 

Would  you  all  "  temptation  "  shun, 

And  "  from  evil  ??  find  relea 
Trust  to  Clod's  beloved  son  ; 

For  in  him  is  perfect  peace. 
What  you  do  his  cause  to  aid, 
Will  your  treasure  sure  be  made, 
Where  in  brightness  it  shall  last 
When  this  earth  itself  is  past ! 


42  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


THE      SPIDER. 

One  biting  winter  morning, 

A  dusky  spider  swung 
From  off  the  mantle,  by  his  thread, 

And  o'er  the  stove-pipe  hung. 
Escaped  from  some  dim  cranny  cold. 

To  warmer  quarters  there, 
He  seemed,  upon  that  slender  hold. 

An  atom  hung  on  air. 

I  watched  his  quick  manoeuvres 

Above  the  funnel  hot, 
Where  like  a  falling  mustard  seed 

He  looked,  but  touched  it  not. 
For  when  he'd  spun  his  line  too  Ion" 

His  tiny  hands  and  feet 
He  plied  to  shun  the  fervor  strong , 

And  made  a  slight  retreat. 

Then  down  again  he'd  venture, 

A  rash,  unwary  thing  ! 
And  to  his  tenure  frail,  above 

The  burning  iron,  cling. 
He'd  mimic  now,  the  sailor's  art 

To  dangle  on  the  rope, 


PO  K  M  S      POB      CHIL  D  B  E  X  .  43 


And  then,  the  clinging  human  heart 
On  sonic  delusive  hope. 

Methought,  "  Poor.  Bimple  spider  ! 

A  cruel  death  is  near  : 
Thou  art  upon  its  very  lip, 

And  yet  so  void  of  fear  ! 
The  spider  folk,  I  here  confess, 

Had  never  charms  for  me  ; 
They  weave  their  tents,  like  wickedness, 

For  deeds  of  cruelty. 


14  They  live  by  snare  and  slaughter  ; 

And  oft  the  piercing  cry 
I've  heard  from  some  poor  victim  hound, 

By  them  slung  up  to  die  ; 
The  while,  for  many  a  venomed  bite, 

Would  spider  at  him  run, 
And  back,  as  if  with  fell  delight, 

To  pain  the  dying  one. 

11  And  yet,  I'll  try  to  save  thee  ;  — 
For  once  a  spider's  friend  !  " 
I  raised  my  hand,  when  lo  !  he  fell, 
A-  Lightning,  to  his  end  ! 


44  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


The  wicked  flee  when  none  pursue. 

In  jealousy  and  dread, 
Not  knowing  what  I  aimed  to  do, 

To  death  the  spider  fled. 

His  little  life  was  over  ; 

And  where  so  quick  he  fell, 
Upon  the  fervid  iron  lay 

No  speck,  his  fate  to  tell. 
Though  short  its  space,  for  good  or  ill, 

We  thence,  perhaps,  may  find 
Some  little  moral  to  distil, 

For  use  of  human  kind. 

Is  not  unwary  childhood, 

For  pleasure,  ofttimes  prone 
To  shun  the  way  experience  points, 

And  bent  to  take  its  own  ? 
Does  not  the  wicked,  from  his  breast, 

Spin  out  the  line  of  sin 
That  leads  him  to  the  grave  unblest, 

And  drops  him,  hopeless,  in  ? 


FOR      CHILDRKX.  45 


THE      D  E W V      F  L  0 W H R . 

The  dewy  flower  that  morn  unfolds. 

With  [Hire  and  grateful  - 
It-  native  earth  around  beholds. 

Above,  the  shining  sky. 

Its  pearly  crown  —  a  tribute  meet  — 

To  dust  beneath  it  gives  ; 
And  from  its  heart  the  odors  sweet. 

To  Him  by  whom  it  lives. 

Its  spicy  breath  ascends  on  air. 

Like  childhood's  hymn  of  praise  : 
Or  seeks  its  Maker,  like  the  prayer, 

Some  infant  heart  may  raise. 

Adoring  God,  delighting  man. 

It  seems  with  aim  sincere 
To  serve  as  far  as  floweret  can 

Its  being's  purpose  here. 

Would  children  emulate  the  flowers  — 
With  hearts  to  God  as  true, 

Would  they  to  him  devote  their  powers. 
What  good  each  child  might  do  ! 


46  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


For  God  beholds  our  humblest  aim 
To  serve  his  righteous  laws  ; 

To  glorify  the  Savior's  name, 
His  kingdom  and  his  cause. 

Where  mind  is  but  a  wilderness, 
With  souls  in  heathen  night, 

Our  feeblest  efforts  he  will  bless 
To  shed  the  Gospel  light. 

Some  little  self-denying  deed, 
For  heathen  land,  may  shine, 

A  kindling  star  ;  or  like  a  seed. 
Spring  up  a  fruitful  vine. 

An  owner  may  come  out,  and  pluck 
His  flower,  at  opening  day  ; 

Or  canker  at  its  vitals  suck 
Its  new-found  life  away. 

And  childhood  is  the  morning  hour 
Of  life's  just  opening  bloom, 

When  death  may  snap  the  dewy  flower, 
And  lay  it  in  the  tomb. 


PO  1:  M  a     i'  o  i:     C  in  i.r>  R  E  N  .  47 


I'm  if  at  life's  bright  rising  sun 

The  heart  to  God  be  given, 
Though  plucked  from  earth  a  budded  one, 

The  soul  unfolds  in  Heaven. 


FALSEHOOD     FORBIDDEN. 

1  must  not  tell  a  lie, 

Whatc'er  's  the  price  to  win  ; 
For  God,  with  his  all-seeing  eye, 

Would  frown  upon  the  sin. 

I  must  not  use  deceit, 

By  any  art  or  wile, 
Another's  faith  and  trust  to  cheat ; 

For  God  abhors  the  guile. 

They  who  can  falsely  smile 
With  lips  that  utter  prayer, 

Insult  their  Maker  ;  and  the  while 
Are  in  the  tempter's  snare. 

I  must  not  boldly  seek 

My  conscience  to  suppress  ; 


48 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


For  soon  or  late  will  conscience  speak, 
And  truth  obtain  redress. 

For  God  enthroned  on  high, 
Doth  out  from  Heaven  declare, 

That  naught  which  maketh  here  a  lie, 
Shall  find  an  entrance  there. 


MARY      DOW. 

"  Come  in,  little  stranger,"  I  said, 

As  she  tapped  at  my  half-open  door, 

While  the  blanket  pinned  over  her  head 

Just  reached  to  the  basket  she  bore. 

A  look  full  of  innocence  fell 

From  her  modest  and  pretty  blue  eye, 
As  she  said,  "  I  have  matches  to  sell, 

And  hope  you  are  willing  to  buy. 

"  A  penny  a  bunch,  is  the  price  ; 

I  think  you  '11  not  find  it  too  much  : 
They're  tied  up  so  even  and  nice. 
And  ready  to  light  with  a  touch.*' 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  49 


I  asked,  "  What's  your  name,  little  girl  ?  " 
"Tis  Mary."  said  she:  "Mary  How.'" 
Ami  carelessly  tossed  off  a  curl 
That  played  o'er  her  delicate  brow. 

•■  My  father  was  lost  in  the  deep  ; 
The  ship  never  got  to  the  shore  : 
And  mother  is  sad,  and  will  weep 
When  she  hears  the  wind  blow  and  sea 
roar. 

11  She  sits  there,  at  home,  without  food. 
Beside  our  poor  sick  Willie's  bed  ; 
She  paid  all  her  money  for  wood, 
And  so  I  sell  matches  for  bread. 

11  For  every  time  that  she  tries 

Some  things  she'd  be  paid  for  to  make. 
And  lays  down  the  bal^~,  it  cries. 
And  that  makes  my  sick  brother  wake. 

"  I'd  go  to  the  yard  and  get  chip-  ; 
But  then  it  would  make  me  so  sad. 
To  see  men  there,  building  the  ship.-. 
And  think  they  had  made  one  so  bad. 
D 


50  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


"  I've  one  other  gown,  and,  with  care, 
We  think  it  may  decently  pass, 
With  my  bonnet,  that's  put  by,  to  wear 
To  meeting  and  Sunday  school  class. 

"  I  love  to  go  there,  where  I'm  taught 

Of  one  who's  so  wise  and  so  good, 

He  knows  every  action  and  thought, 

And  gives  e'en  the  raven  its  food. 

"  For  He,  I  am  sure,  who  can  take 
Such  fatherly  care  of  a  bird, 
Will  never  forget  or  forsake 

The  children  who  trust  to  his  word. 

"  And  now,  if  I  only  can  sell 

The  matches  I  brought  out  to-day, 
I  think  I  shall  do  very  well ; 

And  mother  '11  rejoice  at  the  pay." 

"  Fly  home,  little  bird,"  then  I  thought ; 
"  Fly  home  full  of  joy  to  your  nest !  " 
For  I  took  all  the  matches  she  brought, 
And  Mary  may  tell  you  the  rest. 


POEMS   FOR   CHILDREN.     51 


MARY. 

Mary,  precious  is  thy  name 

More  than  any  other 
Borne  by  mortal  ;  for  it  came 

From  our  Savior's  mother  ! 
Mary  pillowed  on  her  breast 
Jesus,  once,  in  infant  rest : 
Now  her  name,  in  sacred  lines 
Traced  by  inspiration,  shines. 

Then,  another  Mary  sought 

Her  beloved  Master, 
Where  he  "  sat  at  meat ;  "  and  brought, 

Sealed  in  alabaster, 
Costly  ointment  for  his  head  ; 
Brake  the  box,  and  o'er  him  shed 
Precious  odors,  like  a  cloud 
Rising,  while  to  him  she  bowed. 

Still  on  earth  she  ever  lives, 

Young  in  sacred  story  ; 
Whilst  on  high  to  Christ  she  gives 

Endless  praise  and  glory. 
Here  she  "  sat  at  Jesus'  feet," 
Listening  to  his  precepts  sweet  ; 


52  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Now  she  stands  with  hosts  above, 
Singing  his  redeeming  love. 


Near  the  cross,  when  Jesns  bled, 

Stood  the  Marys,  weeping  ; 
Earliest  to  his  tomb  they  sped, 

Where  they  thought  him  sleeping. 
When  he  left  his  couch  of  stone, 
He  to  Mary  first  was  shown  ; 
Mary  "  was  the  primal  word 
From  the  risen  Savior  heard. 


While  arose  that  Sabbath  sun 
Robed  in  new-made  splendor, 

Mary  was  his  chosen  one, 
First  account  to  render — 

First  his  sorrowing  friends  to  tell 

Of  the  Light  of  Israel 

Showing  Death's  domain  destroyed, 

And  the  grave  a  final  void ! 


Mary  mine,  so  young  and  fair, 
Full  of  warm  affection, 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  53 


Hence  from  sin  and  worldly  snare 
Wouldst  thou  sure  protection  ? 
Guard  the  beauty  of  thy  name 
By  their  graces  whence  it  came  : 
Early  taught  of  Jesus  be, 
Like  the  maid  of  Bethany. 

Choose,  like  her.  "  that  better  part :  " 

Let  thine  action  show  it ! 
If  to  Christ  we  give  our  heart. 

Earth,  like  Heaven,  must  know  it. 
He  hath  many  lovely  ways, 
Through  the  child,  to  perfect  praise  : 
Thou,  at  least,  canst  speak  and  pray 
For  the  heathens  far  away. 


He  will  bless  thy  feeblest  aim  — 

Like  that  other  Mary  — 
Life  to  publish  in  his  name, 

Though  the  means  may  vary. 
Little  self-denials,  made 
Offerings  at  li is  altar  laid, 
On  some  heathen  isle  or  shore. 
May  reward  thee  evermore. 


54  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


THE      FRUIT-TREE      BLOSSOM. 

My  flower,  thou  art  as  sweet  to  me, 

Thy  form  as  full  and  fair  — 
As  rich  a  fruit  shall  follow  thee 
As  if  thou  had'st  denied  the  bee 
The  pure  and  precious  gift  that  he 

Wafts  joyous  through  the  air. 

The  spices  from  thy  bosom  flow 

As  purely  round  thee  now, 
As  if  withheld  an  hour  ago  ; 
Restoring,  thou  canst  still  bestow  ; 
Though,  whence  thy  gifts,    thou   may7st 
not  know, 

Or  giving,  tell  me  how. 

And  future  good,  we  yet  shall  find, 

Was  hidden  in  thy  heart. 
Its  witness  will  be  left  behind, 
When  thou,  like  all  thy  tender  kind, 
Thy  minutes  summed,  shalt  be  resigned 

Forever  to  depart. 

Thy  ruin  I  would  not  forestall  ; 
Yet  soon,  I  know,  to  thee 


PO  K  M  S       FOR       CH1L  1)  Et  K  X  .  55 


Mu.-t  conic  wluit  happens  once  to  all  :  — 
Thy  life  will  fail  ;  and  thou  must  fall  — 
Must  fade,  and  perish,  past  recall 
To  vanish  from  the  tree ! 

Then,  on  the  bough  where  thou  wast  sent 

To  pass  thy  fleeting  days, 
At  work  for  which  thine  hours  were  lent. 
In  silent,  balmy,  mild  content, 
A  rich  and  shining  monument 

To  thee  will  nature  raise! 

Now,  not  in  pride —  in  purpose  high. 

Awhile  in  beauty  shine  ; 
And  speak  through  man's  admiring  eye, 
Forbidding  every  passer  by 
To  wish  to  live,  or  dare  to  die. 

With  object  less  than  thine ! 


My  Maker,  I    know  not  the  place  of    thy 
home, 
If  'tis  earth,  or  the  skv,  or  the  sea  ; 


56  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


I  only  can  tell  that  wherever  I  roam, 
I've  still  a  kind  Father  in  thee. 

I  feel  that  at  night  when  I  go  to  my  rest, 
Thy  wings  all  around  me  are  flung  ; 

And  peaceful  I  sleep,  while  the  down  of  thy 
breast 
Is  o'er  me,  as  mine  o'er  my  young. 

And  when  in  the  morning  I  open  my  eye, 
I  feel  thou  hast  long  been  awake  ; 

Thy  beautiful   plumage  is  spread   o'er   the 
sky, 
And  painted  on  river  and  lake. 

Thy  breath  has  gone  into  the  buds,  and  the 
flowers 
Have  opened  to  thee  on  their  stems  ; 
And  thou  hast  strown   dew-drops  on  mea- 
dows and  bowers, 
To  glitter  like  thousands  of  gems. 

Thy  voice,  in    the  notes  that    can  only  be    j 
thine,  — 
A  music  'tis  gladness  to  hear  — 


r  0  K  MS      FOB      OH]  LDB  E  X  .  51 


Comes    through    the    green  boughs  of   the 
oak  and  the  pine, 

And  tails  sweet  and  soft  on  my  ear. 

And  oft  as  a  Bhield  hast  thou  stood  between 
me 
And  the  arrow  that  aimed  at  my  heart  : 
For.    though  in    a  form  that  my  eye  could 
not  see, 
I  know  thou  hast  parried  the  dart. 

J  drink  from  the  drops  on  the  grass  and  the 
vine, 

And  gratefully  gather  my  food  : 
I  feel  thou  hast  plenty  for  me  and  for  mine  ; 

That  all  things  declare  thou  art  good. 

My  Father,  thy  pinions  are  ever  unfurled. 

With  brightness  no  changes  can  dim  ! 
My  Maker,  thy  home  is  all  over  the  world  ; 

Thou 'It  hear,  then,  thy  bird's  lowly  hymn. 


58     POEMS   FOR   CHILDREN. 


THE   BIRD   SET   FREE. 

She  opened  the  cage,  and  away  there  flew 
A  bright  little  bird,  as  a  short  adieu 
It  hastily  whistled,  and  passed  the  door  ; 
And  felt  that  its  sorrowful  hours  were  o'er. 

An  anthem  of  freedom  it  seemed  to  sing ; 
To  utter  its  joy  for  an  outspread  wing  — 
That  now  it  could  sport  in  the  boundless  air  ; 
And  might  go  any  and  every  where. 

And  Anna  rejoiced  in  her  bird's  delight ; 
But  her  eye  was  wet,  as  she  marked  its  flight ; 
Till,  this  was  the  song  that  she  seemed  to 

hear  ; 
And,  merrily  warbled,  it  dried  the  tear  :  — 

"  I  had  a  mistress,  and  she  was  kind 
In  all  but  keeping  her  bird  confined. 
She  ministered  food  and  drink  to  me  ; 
But  oh  !  I  was  pining  for  liberty  ! 

"  My  fluttering  bosom  she  loved  to  smoothe  ; 
But  the  heart  within  it  she  could  not  soothe  : 


POEMS      POB      CHILDREN.  59 


I    sickened   and   longed   for    the    wiklwood 

breeze, 
My  feathery  kindred,  and  fresh  green  tree?. 

•■  A  prisoner  here,  with  a  useless  wing, 

I  looked  with  Borrow  on  every  thing. 

I  lost  my  voice.  I  forgot  my  song, 

And  mourned  in  silence  the  whole  day  long. 

"  But  I  will  go  back  with  a  mellower  pipe. 
And  sing,  when  the  cherries  are  round  and 

ripe  : 
( >n  the  topmost  bough  as  I  lock  my  feet 
To  help  myself,  in  my  leafy  seat. 

••  My  merriest  notes  shall  there  be  heard 
To  draw  her  eye  to  her  franchised  bird  : 
The  burden,  then,  of  my  song  shall  be, 
Earth  for  the  wingless  ;  but  air  for  mi  !  " 


THE      LITTLE      MAID      OF      ISRAEL 

A      SCRIPTURE      STORY. 

Ye  joyous  little  maidens 
Of  happy  Christian  land, 


60  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Who  have  the  Bible,  and  are  taught 

To  read  and  understand, 
A  lovely  tale  those  Scriptures  tell 

Of  one  we  only  know 
As  little  maid  of  Israel, 

She  lived  so  long  ago. 


For  she,  so  young  and  nameless, 

A  glorious  work  achieved  ! 
;Twas  through  her  faith,  the  Syrian  lord 

In  Israel's  God  believed. 
While  she  'mid  Syria's  idols  strove 

To  make  Jehovah  known, 
He  marked  for  her  a  crown  above, 

And  sealed  her  here  his  own. 


To  Syria  borne  a  captive, 

In  Naaman's  house  a  slave, 
A  missionary  sweet  she  proved, 

Her  foreign  lord  to  save. 
That  honored  favorite  of  the  king, 

His  chief  in  rank  and  power, 
Felt  on  himself  an  evil  cling, 

Corroding  every  hour. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  61 


For  Xaaman  was  a  leper, 

Whilst  all  the  powei  and  skill 
Of  magic,  art.  and  pagan  rite 

Had  failed  to  reach  the  ill. 
Though    clothed    in    jeweled    raiment 
bright 

And  golden-wrought  array. 
His  form  with  leprosy  was  white. 

To  foul  disease  a  prey. 

'Twas  then  this  little  maiden, 

While  serving  Naaman'fl  wife, 
Was  made  the  means  his  soul  to  save. 

And  heal  his  blighted  life. 
For  with  that  truly  pious  zeal 

The  faithful  only  know, 
She  sought  his  malady  to  heal, — 

The  healing  balm  to  show. 

She  said,  "  Would  God  my  master 

Were  in  Samaria,  where 
There  dwells  a  Prophet,  who  would  find 

The  cleansing  secret  there!  " 
But  little  did  the  leper  know 

How  fresh  and  free  and  pure 


62  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


The  balsam  of  the  Lord  would  flow 
His  malady  to  cure. 

And  Naaman  sought  Elisha, 

With  gifts  and  rich  array  ; 
When  from  them  all  that  man  of  God 

With  loathing  turned  away. 
The  gift  of  God  he  "  did  not  buy, 

Nor  speak  his  will  for  hire  !  " 
Then   lightning   flashed    through   Naa- 
man's  eye 

From  out  his  breast  of  ire. 

The  Syrian  thought  the  Prophet 

Would  come  with  grand  display  ; 
And  call  upon  his  God  with  pomp, 

And  sacrifice  to  pay. 
But  when  he  merely  bade  him  go, 

And  wash  in  Jordan's  tide  ; 
He  deemed  it  mockery  ;  spoken  so, 

His  misery  to  deride  ! 

Hath  not,"  he  said,  "  Damascus, 

The  city  where  I  dwell, 
The  better  waters,  far,  than  all 

The  streams  of  Israel  ? 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  63 


Abana,  there,  and  Pharpar  flow, 

In  shining  fulness  seen  ! 
[lave  they  not  floods,  where  I  may  go 

To  wash  me,  and  be  clean  ?" 


And  had  not  Naaman's  servants 

Their  master's  wrath  assuaged, 
The  leper  thence  had  hastened  home, 

Despairing  and  enraged. 
A<  yet  the  pagan  never  knew, 

Mid  all  his  keen  distress, 
What  one  small  act  of  faith  may  do, 

With  Israel's  God  to  bless. 

But  by  his  sufferings  humbled, 

Not  knowing  where  to  lean, 
He  turned  and  washed  him  seven  times 

In  Jordan,  and  was  clean ! 
Renewed  in  faith,  in  person  fair, 

This  witness  thence  he  gave  : 
:'  Xo  god  in  all  the  earth  is  there, 

But  Israel's  God,  to  save !  " 

Yet  of  this  lovely  captive, 
The  maid  of  Israel, 


64  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


And  of  the  mission  she  performed, 

My  song  can  feebly  tell. 
You  '11  find  the  tale,  and  best  derive 

The  lesson  sweet  it  brings, 
By  studying  it,  in  chapter  five, 

Of  Second  Book  of  Kings. 


THE      SORROWFUL      YELLOW-BIRD 

They've  caught  my  little  brother  ; 

And  he  was  to  me  a  twin  ! 
They  stole  him  from  our  mother  ; 

And  the  cage  has  shut  him  in. 

I  flitted  by  and  found  him, 

Where  he  looked  so  sad  and  sick, 

With  the  gloomy  wires  around  him, 
As  he  crouched  upon  a  stick. 

And  when  I  tried  to  cheer  him 
With  the  cherry  in  my  bill, 

To  see  me  there  so  near  him  — 
Oh  !  it  made  him  sadder  still. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  65 


His  tender  eye  was  shining 

With  the  brightness  of  despair, 

With  sorrow  and  repining, 
As  he  bade  me  have  a  care ! 

He  said  they'd  conic  and  take  me, 
As  they'd  taken  him  ;  and  then 

A  hopeless  prisoner  make  me, 
In  the  fearful  hands  of  men :  — 

That,  once  in  their  dominion, 
I  should  have  to  pine  away, 

And  never  stretch  a  pinion, 
To  my  very  dying  day  :  — 

That  the  wings  which   God  had  made 
him 

For  freedom  in  the  air, 
Since  man  had  thus  betrayed  him, 

Were  stiff  and  useless  there. 

And  the  little  darling  fellow, 
As  he  showed  his  golden  breast, 

He  said,  beneath  the  yellow, 

He'd  a  sad  and  aching  breast :  — 


66  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


That  since  he'd  been  among  them, 
They  had  ruffled  it  so  much, 

The  only  song  he'd  sung  them 
Was  a  shriek  beneath  their  touch. 

How  can  they  love  to  see  him 

So  sickly  and  so  sad, 
When,  if  they  would  but  free  him, 

He'd  be  so  well  and  glad  ? 

My  hapless  little  brother ! 

I  would  fain  his  bondage  share  : 
I  never  had  another  ;  — 

And  he's  a  captive  there  ! 


THE      LITTLE      FLOWER      GARDEN. 

In  yon  old  village  burying-place, 
With  briers  and  weeds  o'ergrown, 

I  saw  a  child  with  beauteous  face 
Sit  musing  all  alone. 

Without  a  shoe  —  without  a  hat, 
Beside  a  new-raised  mound  ; 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  67 


The  little  Willie  pensive  sat, 
As  if  to  guard  the  ground. 

I  asked  him  why  he  lingered  thus, 
Within  that  gray  old  wall. 
11  Because,"  said  he,  "  it  is  to  us, 
The  dearest  place  of  all." 

"And  what,"  I  asked,  "to  one  so  young, 

Can  make  the  place  so  dear  ?  " 
"  Our  mother"  —  said  the  lisping  tongue, 
11  They  laid  our  mother  here. 

"  And  since  they  made  it  mother's  lot, 
We  like  to  call  it  ours  :  — 
We  took  it  for  our  garden  spot-, 
And  planted  it  with  flowers. 

••  We  know  'twas  here  that  she  was  laid  ; 
And  yet,  they  tell  us,  too, 
She's  now  a  happy  angel,  made 
To  live  where  angels  do. 

11  Then,  will  she  watch  us  from  above, 
And  smile  on  us,  to  know 


68  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 

That  here  her  little  children  love 
To  make  sweet  flowerets  grow. 


"  My  sister  Anna's  gone  to  take 
Her  supper  ;  and  will  come, 
With  quickest  haste  that  she  can  make, 
To  let  me  run  for  some. 

"  We  do  not  leave  the  spot  alone, 
For  fear  the  birds  will  spy 
The  places  where  the  seeds  are  sown, 
And  catch  them  up,  and  fly  ! 

"  We  love  to  have  them  come,  and  feed, 
And  flit  and  sing  about ; 
Yet,  not  where  we  have  dropped  the  seedj 
To  find  and  pick  it  out. 

"  But  now,  the  great,  round,  yellow  sun 
Is  going  down  the  west ; 
And  soon  the  birds  will,  every  one, 
Be  home,  and  in  the  nest. 

"  Then  we  to  rest  shall  go  home  too  ; 
And  while  we're  fast  asleep  ; 


r 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  69 

Amid  the  darkness  and  the  dew. 
Perhaps  the  sprouts  will  peep ! 


'•  And  when  our  plants  have  grown  so  high 
That  leaves  arc  on  the  stem. 
We'll  call  the  pretty  birdies  nigh, 

And  scatter  crumbs  for  them. 


"For  mother  loved  their  songs  to  hear  — 
To  watch  them  on  the  wing  ; 
She  11  love  to  know  they  still  come  near 
Her  little  ones,  and  sing. 


1  don7t  know  where's  her  dwelling-place ; 

But  here,  she  daily  seems 
To  meet  me,  as,  with  smiling  face, 

She  kissed  me  in  my  dream?. 


May  not  she  be  the  Angel,  sent 
A  daily  watch  to  keep  : 

And.  fondly  o'er  our  pillows  bent. 
To  guard  as  while  we  sleep  ?  " 


70  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


"Heaven   guard   thee,  precious  child,  me- 
thought, 
"  And  '  sister  Anna,'  too  ; 
And  may  your  future  days  be  fraught 
With  blessings  ever  new  !  " 


THE      LOST      HYACINTH. 

My  hyacinth,  my  hyacinth 

At  length  has  come  to  light ! 
And  round  the  stalk  and  purple  buds 

The  leaves  are  green  and  bright. 
Kenewed  in  beauty,  it  has  broke 

From  out  the  crumbling  earth  ; 
And  when  I  thought  it  dead  and  gone, 

It  has  another  birth ! 

My  hyacinth,  my  hyacinth, 
At  last  I've  found  thee  out ! 

0,  where  hast  thou  been  hid  so  long? 
What  hast  thou  been  about  ? 

I've  been,"  the  little  hermit  said, 

"  Within  my  lowly  cell  ; 


PO  E  M  B     I'd  1;      c  li  i  1. 1>  B  i:  x  .  71 


And  joy  I've  had  in  quiet  there, 
That  tongue  can  never  tell. 

M  In  sweet  communion  with  the  power 

To  which  alone  I  trust, 
I've  worshipped  long  at  nature's  shrine, 

Abased  below  the  dust. 
This  upper  world  I  find  a  scene 

Of  peril,  change  and  strife  : 
And  from  seclusion  I  must  draw 

My  sweetest  draught  of  life. 

'  I  could  not  live,  if  ever  thus. 

Uncovered  to  the  glare 
Of  yonder  sun.  and  rudely  brushed 

By  every  vagrant  air. 
'T\<  best  for  me,  and  best  for  thee. 

That  I  should  pass  from  sight, 
To  dwell  a  while  in  loneliness, 
And  hidden  from  the  light. 

'  For  I  should  lose  my  highest  worth 

By  be  in  li-  always  here  : 
And  thou  would'st  lose  the  joy  thou  hast 
To  see  me  re-appear. 


POEMS      FOR       CHILDREN. 


From  calm  and  humble  solitude, 

My  first  attractions  flow  ; 
And  but  for  these,  I  should  be  poor, 

Without  a  charm  to  show. 

"  I've  now  come  back  to  stand  awhile 
In  beauty  to  thine  eye  ; 
And  when  my  flowers  have   gladdened    i 
thee, 
They  '11  be  content  to  die. 
And  while  thy  hyacinth  shall  pour 

Her  sweets  from  every  bell, 
Remember,  she  her  fragrance  gained 
Within  the  lonely  cell !  " 


THE      WINTER      KING.* 

0  !  what  will  become  of  thee,  poor  little 

bird? 
The   muttering   storm    in    the    distance   is 

heard  ; 
The   cold   winds    are  waking,   the    clouds 

growing  black ! 

*  Parus  Atricapillus,  Linn.    Black-capt  Titmouse,  Wilson. 


POEM  B      FOR      C  II  I  LDII  E  N   . 


They  "11   soon    scatter   snow-flakes   all    over 
thy  back  ! 

From  what  sunny  clime  hast  thou  wandered 

away  ? 
And  what   art  thou  doing,  this  cold  winter 

day  ? 


•■  I'm  pecking  the  gum  from  the  old  peach- 
tree  : 

The  storm  docs'nt  trouble  me  !  —  Pee-dee- 
dee." 


But  what  makes  thee  seem  so  unconscious  of 

care  ? 
The  brown   earth  is  frozen  —  the  branches 

are  bare ! 
And  how  can'st  thou  seem  so  light-hearted 

and  free, 
Like  Liberty's  form  with  the  spirit  of  glee. 
When  no  place  is   near  for  thine  evening 

rest  — 
Xo    leaf  for  thy  screen  —  for  thy  bosom    no 

aesl  ? 


74  POEMS      FOE      CHILDREN. 


"  Because  the  same  hand  is  a  shelter  for  me, 
That  took  off  the  summer  leaves  !  —  Pee-dee- 
dee." 

But  man   feels  a  burden   of  want,  and  of 

grief, 
While  plucking  the  cluster  and  binding  the 

sheaf ! 
We  take  from  the  ocean,  the  earth,  and  the    ' 

air  ; 
And  all  their  rich  gifts  do  not  silence  our    j 

care. 
In  summer  we  faint  ;   in  the  winter  we're 

chilled, 
With  ever  a  void  that  is  yet  to  be  filled. 

"  A  very  small  portion  sufficient  will  be. 
If  sweetened  with  gratitude!  —  Pee-clee-dee." 

I    thank   thee,  bright  monitor !    What  thou    j 

hast  taught 
Will    oft    be   the   theme    of    the    happiest 

thought. 
We  look  at  the  clouds,  while  the  bird  has 

an  eye 


POEMS      FOR      CHILD!:  E  X  .  75 


To  Him  who  reigns  over  them,  changeless 
and  high  ! 

And  now.  little  hero,  just  tell  me  thy  name, 
That  I  may  be  sure  whence  my  oracle  came. 

••  Because,  in  all    weather.   I'm    happy   and 

free, 
They  call  me  the  '  wixter  kixg  : '  —  Pee-dee- 

dee." 


But  soon  there  11  be  ice  weighing  down  the 

light  bough 
Whereon  thou  art  flitting  so  merrily  now  ! 
And  though  there's  a  vesture,  well-fitted  and 

warm, 
Protecting  the  rest  of  thy  delicate  form. 
What  then  wilt  thou  do  with  thy  little  bare 

feet, 
To  save  them  from  pain,  'mid  the  frost  and 

the  sleet  ? 

"  I  can  draw  them  right  up  in  my  feathers, 

you  see ! 
To    warm  them,    and    fly  away!  —  Pee-dee- 

dee." 


76 


POEMS   FOR   CHILDREN 


THE   BOY   AND   THE   FLOWERS. 

Radiant  with  his  spirit  light, 

Was  the  happy  little  child, 
Sporting  round  a  fountain  bright, 

Playing  through  the  flowerets  wild. 
Where  they  grew  he  lightly  stepped, 

Cautious  not  a  leaf  to  crush  ; 
Then  about  the  fount  he  leaped, 

Shouting  at  its  merry  gush. 

While  the  sparkling  waters  welled, 

Laughing  as  they  bubbled  up, 
In  his  lily  hand  he  held, 

Closely  clasped,  a  silver  cup. 
Now  he  put  it  forth  to  fill  ; 

Then  he  bore' it  to  the  flowers, 
Through  his  fingers  there  to  spill 

What  it  held,  in  mimic  showers. 


"  Open,  pretty  buds,"  said  he, 
"  Open  to  the  air  and  sun  ; 
So  to-morrow  I  may  see 

What  my  rain  to-day  has  done. 
Yes,  you  will,  you  will,  I  know, 

For  the  drink  I  give  you  now, 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  77 


Burst  your  little  cups,  and  blow, 
When  I'm  gone,  and  can't  tell  how. 

"  Oh !  I  wish  I  could  but  see 

How  God's  finger  touches  you, 
When  your  sides  unclasp,  and  free, 

Let  the  spice  and  petals  through. 
I  would  watch  you  all  the  night ; 

Nor  in  darkness  be  afraid, 
Only  once  to  see  aright 

How  a  beauteous  flower  is  made. 

"  Now  remember,  I  shall  come 
In  the  morning,  from  my  bed, 
Here  to  find  among  you,  some 

With  your  brightest  colors  spread!" 
To  his  buds  he  hastened  out 

At  the  dewy  morning  hour, 
Crying  with  a  joyous  shout, 
11  God  has  made  of  each  a  flower ! " 

Precious  must  the  ready  faith 

Of  the  little  children  be, 
In  the  sight  of  Him  who  saith, 
11  Suffer  them  to  come  to  me." 


78  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Answered  by  the  smile  of  Heaven 
Is  the  infant's  offering  found, 

Though  "  a  cup  of  water  given," 
Even  to  the  thirsty  ground ! 


ROBIN,      SING      TO      ME. 

Robin,  robin,  sing  to  me, 
And  I  '11  gladly  suffer  thee 
Thus  to  breakfast  in  the  tree, 

On  the  ruddy  cherry. 
Soon  as  thou  hast  swallowed  it, 
How  I  love  to  see  thee  flit 
To  another  twig,  and  sit, 

Singing  there,  so  merry. 

It  was  kind  in  thee  to  fly 
Near  my  window  ;  and  to  try 
There  to  raise  thy  notes  so  high 

As  to  break  my  slumbers. 
Robin,  half  the  cheering  power 
Of  this  bright  and  lovely  hour, 
While  I  pluck  the  dewy  flower, 

Comes  from  thy  sweet  numbers  ! 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  79 


And  thou  wast  an  honest  bird, 
Thus  to  let  thy  voice  be  heard, 
Asking  —  in  the  plainest  word 

Thou  could'st  utter  —  whether 
Those  who  owned  it,  would  allow 
Thee  to  take  upon  the  bough 
Thy  repast,  and  sit,  as  now, 

Smoothing  down  thy  feather. 

Who,  that  hears  the  mellow  note 
On  the  air  of  morning  float 
From  the  robin's  little  throat, 

Could  desire  to  still  her  ? 
Who  her  beauty  can  behold, 
And  consent  to  have  it  told, 
That  he  had  a  heart  so  cold, 

As  to  try  to  kill  her? 


THE     CHILDREN     AT     THE     OAK. 

Beneath  an  old  oak's  leafy  shade, 

In  careless  infant  glee, 
Three  little  children  sat,  and  played, 

Or  chased  about  the  tree. 


So  light  and  airily  they  went, 

With  each  a  beaming  face, 
The  grass  beneath  their  footsteps  bent, 

Sprang  back,  and  took  its  place. 


The   flowers  they'd  plucked   and  carried 
there, 

Lay  scattered  all  around, 
And  spread  their  odors  on  the  air, 

While  they  adorned  the  ground. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILI-  B  E  N  ,  >1 


A  bright  embroidery  they  made, 

To  decorate  the  scene. 
In  sweet  confusion,  lightly  laid 

Upon  the  silken  green. 

As  round  the  tree  they  ran  and  leapt. 

Those  gladsome  little  boys 
Upon  the  last  year's  acorns  stepped, 

And  gathered  them  for  toys. 


When  down  they  sat,  to  count  them  o'er. 

Beneath  those  branches  high, 
That  once  the  pretty  play-things  bore, 


An  aged  man  drew  nigh. 


His  hair  was  white  —  his  eye  was  dim  ; 

-  •  slow  his  way  he  made. 
The  children,  rising,  ran  to  him, 

And  led  him  to  the  Bhade. 


When,  braced  against  the  firm  old  oak, 

And  leaning  on  his  staff, 
He  listened,  while  the  prattlers  spoke, 

And  joined  their  childish  laugh. 

F 


84  POEMS      FOE      CHILDREN 


"  And  I,  in  every  blooming  year 
From  infancy  till  now, 
Have  listened  to  the  warblers  here, 
That  sang  from  bough  to  bough. 

"  Full  fourscore  summers  have  I  come 
To  hear  their  carol  gay  ; 
And  yet  they  seem  but  as  the  sum 
Of  hours  that  make  a  day  ! 

"  While  hence  I've  viewed   the  plant  and 
flower 
That  decked  the  hill  and  mead, 
They  seemed  epistles,  traced  by  Power 
Above,  for  man  to  read. 

"  When  o'er  my  head,  soft  winds  passed  by, 
And  threw  the  leaves  apart, 
Methought  sweet  whispers  from  the  sky, 
Were  breathed  upon  my  heart. 

"  They  seemed  my  father's  angel  voice, 
In  tones  of  peace  and  love, 
That  bade  me  make  my  early  choice 
A  treasure  pure  above. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  85 


"  For  he,  when,  but  a  child,  he  laid 
In  earth  the  acorn  low, 
Resigned  his  heart  to  Him  who  made 
The  oak  spring  up,  and  grow. 

"  That  God,  who  called  my  father  hence 
From  sorrow,  pain,  and  dust, 
Was  then  his  orphan's  sure  defence,  — 
Is  now  my  joy  and  trust. 

11  'Tis  he  who  makes  the  old  man  smile, 
Though  trembling,  hoar,  and  dim  ; 
For  now  'tis  but  a  little  while 
Ere  I  shall  be  with  Him !  " 

The   speaker   ceased ;    when,   quick    and 
mute, 

Each  listener  stepped  apart  ; 
In  earth  to  lay  the  oaken  fruit, 

As  faith  lay  in  his  heart 


86  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


THE      SPARROW. 

A  quiet,  harmless  little  bird, 

About  your  door  I  come  ; 
And  when  my  low  "  chick-chick,*'  is  heard, 

I'm  asking  for  a  crumb. 
O'er  mint  and  clover-tops  I  flit, 

And  through  the  fragrant  yarrow  ; 
Then,  waiting  near  your  door  I  sit, 

A  patient  little  sparrow. 


To  yon  old  churchyard  late  I  flew, 

And  from  its  gate  looked  round, 
Where  marble  stood,  and  willows  grew, 

Within  the  silent  ground. 
The  branches  drooped,  the  graven  stone 

Gazed  on  the  grassy  barrow  ; 
But  all  was  hush,  and  there  was  none 

Awake  to  hear  the  sparrow. 


In  simple  suit  of  russet  brown, 

I  thus  am  daily  dressed, 
While  other  birds  on  me  look  down 

Yet  I've  a  peaceful  breast. 


POEMS      FOR      CH1LDRKN.  87 


No  envy  for  the  loud  and  gay 
Shall  e'er  my  bosom  harrow  ; 

More  lowly,  I'm  more  blest  than  they, 
A  fearless,  trustful  sparrow  ! 

For  clearer  note,  and  richer  plume, 

And  wider  wings  to  fly, 
May  others  higher  rank  assume 

On  nature's  scale,    than  I. 
Yet  crimson,  azure,  green  and  gold 

Attract  the  archer's  arrow  : 
Bright  captives,  too,  the  cage  may  hold, 

That  never  held  a  sparrow ! 

Now,  lady,  lest  around  your  door 

The  bird  that  comes  to-day 
A  crumb  to  ask,  may  come  no  more. 

At  heart  my  message  lay. 
For  I'm  our  Maker's  carrier-bird, 

Though  seems  my  sphere  so  narrow  ; 
And  'tis  a  kindly  Spirit-word 

He  sendeth  by  "  the  sparrow  !  " 


88  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


THE      GOOD      DOLL. 

Come,  sister  dear, 

I'll  read  you  here 
The  story  of  a  Dollie, 

Who  never  strayed 

Nor  disobeyed 
Good  rules,  by  guilt  or  folly. 

She  never  cried, 

When  put  aside, 
In  bed  or  in  the  cradle  ; 

When  taken  up, 

She  broke  no  cup, 
Nor  dropped  a  spoon  or  ladle. 

She  never  told 
A  fib,  nor  rolled 
Her  pretty  lip  in  anger  ; 
Nor,  if  displeased. 
Felt  cross,  and  teased, 


Or  filled  the  house  with  clangor. 

She  never  soiled 
Her  dress,  or  spoiled 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  89 


I  lor  Bhoes,  tlieir  worth  abusing  ; 

Nor  did  she  tear 

Her  book,  or  wear 
Through  leaves  she  was  perusing. 

She  did  not  pass 

Before  the  glass 
Too  often,  or  too  vainly  ; 

As  if  her  worth 

Should  be  set  forth 
In  outward  beauty  mainly. 

The  whole,  in  short, 

Of  Dollie's  fort, 
Was  trust  in  those  to  train  her 

Who  better  knew 

Than  she  could  do, 
Wherein  she'd  be  a  gainer. 

A  brother  young 

Was  found  among 
Miss  Dollie's  near  relations, 

Who  could,  like  her, 

Some  good  infer 
From  slightest  intimations. 


90  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 

But  both  were  small  ; 

So  this  is  all 
Their  story  gives  at  present : 

It  lets  us  see, 

How  each  could  be 
In  aspect  always  pleasant. 


THE      ROBIN'S      SONG. 

Hark  !  it  is  the  robin's  song 

Coming  through  the  flowery  trees ! 

Sweetly  does  it  float  along 
Hither,  on  the  balmy  breeze. 

0,  that  I  could  understand 

Once,  the  meaning  of  the  words 

Warbled  forth  so  quick,  to  go 
To  the  music  of  the  birds ! 

If  I  had  him  in  my  hand, 

Holding  down  his  glossy  wings, 
Could  I  better  understand 

What  it  is  the  robin  sings  ? 


l'OKMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  91 


Were  his  tender  downy  breast 
Pressing,  warm,  upon  my  palm, 

Could  I  make  it  feel  at  rest? 

Would  he  then  be  tame  and  calm  ? 


No,  —  upon  his  native  bough 
He  is  happy,  light  and  free  : 

There,  to  Heaven  he  carols  now 
Praises  for  his  liberty  ! 

Captive,  he  would  only  make 
Signs  of  anguish  —  sounds  of  grief, 

Till  his  little  heart  would  break, 
Mourning  —  panting  —  for  relief. 

He  who  formed  the  feathered  lyre, 
Hath  the  light,  unfettered  wings 

Made  to  fan  the  latent  fire 
Ivindled  in  the  hidden  strings. 

Whilst  he  holds  it  high  in  air. 
To  his  touch  it  quick  replies  ; 

But  if  mortal  fingers  bear 
On  its  chords,  the  music  dies ! 


92  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


THE     CHILD     AND     THE     FIRE-PLY 

Come  here,  pretty  fly, 
For  the  grass  is  so  damp 

And  the  wind  is  so  high, 
They  will  put  out  your  lamp. 

Come,  don't  be  so  coy, 
Flashing  by  me  with  fear  • 

There's  naught  to  destroy, 
Or  to  injure  you  here. 

Like  a  bright  little  spark 

As  you're  flying  about, 
Here  and  there,  in  the  dark, 

0,  you  will  get  put  out ! 

Then  come,  pretty  fly, 
Here's  a  shelter  for  you  : 

Not  a  blast  shall  come  nigh, 
Nor  a  drop  of  the  dew. 

Secure  shall  you  stand, 

Little  jewel,  and  shed 
Your  light  in  my  hand, 

When  your  winglets  are  spread  ; 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  93 


Or  rest  here  by  me, 
In  the  pure  crystal  cup  ; 

If  you  '11  just  let  me  see 
How  your  winglets  go  up. 

11  Many  thanks  for  your  care," 
Said  the  wise  little  fly  ; 

11  But  without  dew  and  air, 
I  should  soon  faint  and  die. 

"  More  charms  do  I  find 

In  a  fresh  blade  of  grass, 
Than  appears,  to  my  mind, 
In  a  whole  house  of  glass  ! 

"  My  lamp  is  not  made 

Of  the  poor,  wasting  oil, 
With  burning  to  fade, 
Or  for  dampness  to  spoil. 

"  By  a  hand  that's  unseen 

It  is  fashioned  and  trimmed  ; 
And  this  is  the  screen 
That  shall  keep  it  undimmed. 


94  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Secure  in  that  hand, 

I  can  live  at  my  ease, 
And  glow  while  I'm  fanned 

By  the  blast  and  the  breeze. 

I  love  to  be  free, 

And  to  feel  the  whole  world 
Is  open  to  me 

When  my  wings  are  unfurled. 

From  a  sweet  verdant  sod 
Am  I  raised  up  at  night, 

When  the  brightness  of  God 
Lends  the  Fire-fly  her  light !  " 


THE      BIRDS      HOME. 

0,  where  is  thy  home,  sweet  bird 
With  the  song,  and  bright  glossy  plume? 
"  I  '11  tell  thee  where  I  rest, 

If  thou  wilt  not  rob  my  nest  ; 
I  built  among  the  sweet  apple-bloom !  " 


POEMS      FOB      CHILD  REX.  95 

But,  what's  in  thy  nest,  bright  bird  ? 
What's  there,  in  the  snug  downy  cell? 
"  If  thou  wilt  not  rob  the  tree  ; 

Nor  go  too  near,  to  see 
My  quiet  little  home,  I  will  tell." 

0.  I  will  not  thy  trust  betray  ! 
The  secret  I  will  closely  keep. 
••  I've  three  tender  little  things 

That  have  never  used  their  win-. 
I  left  them  there,  at  home,  fast  asleep." 

Then,  why  art  thou  here,  my  bird. 
Away  from  thy  young,  helpless  brood  ? 
"  To  pay  thee  with  a  song 

Just  to  let  me  pass  along, 
Nor  harm  me,  as  I  look  for  their  food." 


THE      BROKEN      PIPE. 

Come  here,  little  Willie  ; 
Why.  what  is  the  trouble? 
"  I've  broke  my  new  pipe,  ma'- 
I  can't  make  a  bubble !  " 


96  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Well,  don't  weep  for  that,  child  ; 

Come  brighten  your  face, 
And  tell  how  this  grievous 

Disaster  took  place. 

"  Why,  Puss  came  along, 

And  said  I,  '  Now  she'll  think 
This  white  frothy  water 
Is  milk  she  may  drink.' 

"  So,  I  set  it  before  her, 

And  plunged  her  mouth  in, 
When  up  came  her  paws, 
And  clung  fast  to  my  chin. 

"  Then  I  gave  her  a  blow 
With  my  pipe  ;  and  it  flew 
At  once  into  pieces  !  — 
0,  what  shall  I  do? 

"  I  can't  make  a  bubble  I 
I  wish  naughty  Kit 
Had  been  a  mile  off : 

See,  there's  blood  on  me  yet ! " 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  07 


I'm  sorry,  my  boy  ;  though 

Your  loss  is  but  just. 
You  first  deceived  Pussy, 

And  trifled  with  trust. 

And  failing-  in  this, 

You  compelled  her  ;  and  thence 
The  wound  on  your  face 

From  poor  Kit's  self-defence. 

Then  when  you  grew  cruel, 
And  beat  her,  you  know 

Your  pipe  and  yourself 

Fared  the  worst  for  the  blow. 


Let  this  lesson  teach  you. 
Hence  never  to  stoop, 

To  make  man  or  brute, 

That  may  trust  you.  a  dupe  ; 

That  when  you  have  power. 

li  -hould  not  be  abused. 
Oppressing  the  weaker, 

Nor  Btrength  be  misused. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 

For  often  unkindness 
Returns  whence  it  came  ; 

Deceit,  too,  will  ever 
Be  followed  by  shame. 

Remember  this,  William, 
And  here  end  your  sorrow  : 

I  '11  buy  you  a  pipe, 

To  make  bubbles,  to-morrow. 


THE      PEACH      BLOSSOMS. 

Come  here !  come  here,  cousin  Mary,  and  see 
What  fair,  ripe  peaches  there  are  on  the 

tree  — 
On  the  very  same  bough  that  was  given  to 

me 
By  father,  one  day  last  spring. 
When  it  looked  so  beautiful,  all  in  the  blow, 
And  I  wanted  to  pluck  it,  he  told  me,  you 

know, 
I  might,  but   that   waiting   a   few   months 

would  show 
The  fruit,  that  patience  might  bring. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  W 


And   a>  T  perceived,  by   the  sound  of   his 

voice, 
And  the  look  of  his  eye,  it  was  clearly  his 

choice 
That  it  should  not  be  touched,  I  have  now 

to  rejoice 
That  I  told  him  we'd  let  it  remain  ; 
For,  had  it  been  gathered  when  full  in  the 

flower. 
Its  blossoms  had  withered,  perhaps,  in  an 

hour, 
And  nothing  on  earth  could  have  given  the 

power 
That  would  make  them  flourish  again. 

But  now,  of  a  fruit  so  delicious  and  sweet 

I've  enough  for  myself  and  my  playmates  a 
treat  ; 

And  they  tell  me,  besides,  that  the  kernels 
secrete 
What,  if  planted,  will  make  other  trees  : 

For  the  shell  will  come  open  to  let  down  the 
root ; 

A  Bprout  will  spring  up,  whence  the  branch- 
es will  shoot  ; 


100         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


There  '11  be  buds,  leaves  and  blossoms  ;  and 
then  comes  the  fruit  — 
Such  beautiful  peaches  as  these ! 


The  following  is  but  versified  statement  of  a  touching,  literal 
fact  that  occurred  not  long  since  a  few  rods  from  my  own  door. 

A  shadowy  tree,  that  grew  beside 

Its  city  owner's  door, 
Its  branches  threw  so  high  and  wide, 
That  many  a  bird  could  sing,  and  hide 

Among  the  leaves  it  bore. 

A  robin  came,  and  built  her  nest 

In  that  green  rustling  tree. 
At  evening,  there  she  sank  to  rest 
And  furled  her  weary  wings,  as  blest 

As  little  bird  could  be. 

Upon  her  side  her  drowsy  head, 

Beneath  her  folded  wing, 
She  pillowed,  while  the  night-hours  fled  : 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  101 

WheD  morning  flushed  the  east  with  red, 
She'd  wake,  and  mount,  and  sing. 

Five  pretty  eggs  of  azure  hue, 

In  that  soft  nest  she  laid. 
So  clear  and  vivid  was  their  blue, 
Like  polished  balls  they  shone  to  view, 

Of  purest  sapphire  made. 

And  many  a  day  she  brooded  o'er 
Those  treasures,  till  they  grew, 
In  what  the  shells  contained  before, 
To  something  different  —  something  more  — 
Young  birds  came  peeping  through ! 

Five  little  baby  birds  were  there, 

In  that  fond  robin's  nest, 
All  callow  ;  and  their  mother's  care 
Was  now  to  find    their  daily  fare, 

And  shield  them  with  her  breast. 

Her  tiny  game,  or  berries  ripe 

From  some  far  distant  stem 
She'd  bring  them  ;  then  her  beak  she'd  wipe, 
And  sit  upon  a  twig,  and  pipe 

A  mother's  tune  to  them. 


102         POEMS      FOR      CHILDRM. 


At  length,  the  owner  of  the  tree 

One  dismal,  stormy  day, 
His  window  from  the  shade  to  free, 
The  better  in  his  room  to  see, 

Some  branches  lopped  away. 

He  dropped  the  very  bough  that  hung 

A  curtain  o'er  the  nest. 
The  sun  burnt  through  the  clouds,  and  flung 
His  fire  the  helpless  brood  among, 

Till  they  were  sore  oppressed. 


Their  tender  mother  then  was  seen 

To  stand  on  weary  feet, 
Where  now  they  missed  the  leafy  green, 
With  one  wing  raised  her  babes  to  screen 

From  sultry  noontide  heat. 


And,  patient  there,  she  day  by  day, 

Upon  her  nest's  round  edge, 
Stood  up  to  keep  the  sun  away, 
While,  shaded  thus,  her  nestlings  lay 
Till  time  their  forms  could  fledge. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.         103 


Then,  when  the  master  of  the  tree 

Beheld  what  love  and  care 
Within  a  mother  lard  could  be, 
He  wished  in  vain  that  he  could  see 

The  bough  still  living  there. 

Thus  thoughtless  we  may  often  pain 

Or  grieve  a  feeling  heart, 
Wherein  the  anguish  must  remain, 
While  we  may  wish,  but  wish  in  vain. 

To  lay  or  lull  the  smart. 

A  good  destroyed  's  a  fearful  thing, 

And  so  's  a  good  undone  ! 
We,  serving  self,  on  self  may  bring 
A  heavier  ill  —  a  keener  sting 

Than  what  we  sought  to  shun. 

T  is  little  acts  of  good  or  ill. 

That  make  our  vast  account. 
No  one,  though  great,  does  all  God"-  will. 
Small  drops  the  caves  of  ocean  lill  : 

And  Bands  compose  the  mount. 


102         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


At  length,  the  owner  of  the  tree 

One  dismal,  stormy  day, 
His  window  from  the  shade  to  free, 
The  better  in  his  room  to  see, 

Some  branches  lopped  away. 

He  dropped  the  very  bough  that  hung 

A  curtain  o'er  the  nest. 
The  sun  burnt  through  the  clouds,  and  flung 
His  fire  the  helpless  brood  among, 

Till  they  were  sore  oppressed. 


Their  tender  mother  then  was  seen 

To  stand  on  weary  feet, 
Where  now  they  missed  the  leafy  green, 
With  one  wing  raised  her  babes  to  screen 

From  sultry  noontide  heat. 


And,  patient  there,  she  day  by  day, 

Upon  her  nest's  round  edge, 
Stood  up  to  keep  the  sun  away, 
While,  shaded  thus,  her  nestlings  lay 
Till  time  their  forms  could  fledge. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  103 


Then,  when  the  master  of  the  tree 

Beheld  what  love  and  care 
Within  a  mother  bird  could  be, 
He  wished  in  vain  that  he  could  see 

The  bough  still  living  there. 

Thus,  thoughtless  we  may  often  pain 

Or  grieve  a  feeling  heart, 
Wherein  the  anguish  must  remain, 
While  we  may  wish,  but  wish  in  vain. 

To  lay  or  lull  the  smart. 

A  good  destroyed  's  a  fearful  thing, 

And  so  ?s  a  good  undone  ! 
We,  serving  self,  on  self  may  bring 
A  heavier  ill  —  a  keener  sting 

Than  what  we  sought  to  shun. 

T  is  little  acts  of  good  or  ill. 

That  make  our  vast  account. 
No  one,  though  great,  does  all  God's  will. 
Small  drops  the  caves  of  ocean  till  : 

And  sands  compose  the  mount. 


104         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


THE      WHEAT      FIELD. 

Field  of  wheat,  so  full  and  fair, 
Shining,  with  thy  sunny  hair 
Lightly  waving  either  way, 
Graceful  as  the  breezes  play  — 
Looking  like  a  summer  sea,  — 
How  I  love  to  gaze  at  thee ! 
Pleasant  art  thou  to  the  sight ; 
And  to  thought,  a  rich  delight. 
Then,  thy  voice  is  music  sweet, 
Softly-sighing  Field  of  Wheat. 

Pointing  to  the  genial  sky, 
Rising  straight,  and  aiming  high, 
Every  stalk  is  seen  to  shoot 
As  an  arrow,  from  the  root. 
Like  a  well-trained  company, 
All,  in  uniform,  agree 
From  the  footing  to  the  ear  ; 
All  in  order  strict  appear. 
Marshaled  by  a  skilful  hand, 
All  together  bow,  or  stand  — 
Still,  within  the  proper  bound  ; 
None  o'ersteps  the  given  ground - 
With  its  tribute  held  to  pay 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


1 


105 


At  Bis  nod  whom  they  obey. 
Each  the  gems  that  stud  its  crown 
Will  ere  long  for  man  lay  down  : 
Thou  with  promise  art  replete 
Of  the  precious  sheaves  of  wheat. 

How  thy  strength  in  weakness  lies  ! 

Not  a  robber-bird  that  flies 

Finds  support  whereby  to  put 

On  a  stalk  her  lawless  foot  ; 

Not  a  predatory  beak 

Plunges  down,  thy  stores  to  seek, 

Where  the  guard  of  silver  spears 

Keeps  the  fruit,  and  decks  the  ears. 

Xo  vain  insect,  that  could  do 

Harm  to  thee,  dares  venture  through 

Such  an  armory,  or  eat 

Off  the  sheath,  to  take  the  wheat. 


What  a  study  do  we  find 
Opened  here  for  eye  and  mind ! 
In  it.  who  can  offer  h 
Than  to  wonder,  and  confess, 
That  on  this  high-favored  ground, 
Faith  is  blest,  and  Hope  is  crowned  ? 


106  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


Charity  her  arms  may  spread 
Wide  from  it,  with  gifts  of  bread. 
Wisdom,  Power,  and  Goodness  meet 
In  the  bounteous  Field  of  Wheat ! 


THE      WHITE      ANEMONE, 

Thy  charm,  pale,  modest,  timid  one, 
Is  this —  that  thou  dost  ever  shun 
The  public  walk,  and  to  the  sun 

Dost  show  an  open  heart ; 
Which  does  not  fear  the  brightest  ray 
That  7s  darted  from  the  eye  of  day. 
Will  aught  of  secret  stain  betray. 

Or  find  a  double  part. 

And  thou  hast  never  been  beguiled 

To  quit  the  simple,  quiet  wild 

Where  Xature  placed  her  modest  child 

To  worship  her  alone. 
Thou  dost  not  ask  the  brow  of  toil 
To  shed  its  costly  dew,  to  spoil 
The  bed  of  free,  unfurrowed  soil 

Which  thou  hast  made  thine  own. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


107 


Ami  now.  if  I  wore  hence  to  take 
Thee,  root  and  stern,  it  would  but  make 
Thee   homesick  —  and    the    Bpell    would 
break. 

That 's  round  the  desert  gem. 
So,  I  will  set  me  down,  and  look 
On  thy  fair  leave?,  my  little  book, 
To  read  the  name  of  Hi  in  who  took 

Such  care  in  forming  them. 


PIC- NIC      HYMN. 

When  Jesus  the  multitude  fed, 

And  blest  the  repast  brought  before  them. 
The  earth  was  the  table  he  spread. — 

The  skies,  the  pavilion  hung  o'er  them. 
And  He.  the  great  Teacher,  is  ours ! 

From  Art  and  the  world  thus  retiring, 
We    find,    through    grass,    wild-wood    and 
flowers, 

His  wisdom  and  goodness  transpiring. 


When  nature  we  read  in  the  leaves 

And  bloom  of  the  trees,  softly  spreading, 


108 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Our  spirit  fresh  vigor  receives, 
As  if  walks  of  Paradise  treading. 

The  insect  that  chirps  at  our  feet,  — 
The  breeze  in  the  branches  surrounding, 

The  birds,  with  their  songs  wildly  sweet, 
Are  notes  to  the  Deity  sounding. 

And  we  to  Him,  present  alone, 

Save  Nature's  sweet  angel,  confiding 
Our  soul's  deepest  feelings,  must  own 

No  good  like  his  favor  abiding ! 
The  streamlet  —  the  floweret  —  the  tree  — 

The  mountain  majestic  and  hoary  ;  — 
Yea,  all  that  we  hear,  or  we  see, 

Attests  to  his  power  and  his  glory. 


His  Book  spreads  from  earth  to  the  skies 

The  more  we  its  leaves  are  unfolding, 
The  more  it  enlightens  our  eyes 

His  higher  perfections  beholding. 
Embellished  with  stars  and  the  sun, 

It  shines  ;  and  for  clear  illustration. 
To  us  the  Omnipotent  One 

Hath  sent  his  Divine  Revelation. 


POEMS   FOR   CHILDREN.    109 


THE  FLY  UNDER  THE  LAMP-SHADE, 

All  !  thou  lost,  unwary  thing, 
Fluttering  with  a  tortured  wing  — 
Crying,  with  thy  little  feet 
Scorched  amid  surrounding  heat! 
Poor,  unhappy,  suffering  fly, 
What  a  painful  death  to  die  ! 

Since  so  rashly  thou  hast  strayed 
Twixt  the  funnel  and  the  shade, 
In  the  fiery  prison  lost, 
Now  thy  life  must  pay  the  cost 
Of  thy  venturing  near  the  glare 
Dazzling  to  allure  thee  there ! 

Oh !  it  fills  my  heart  with  pain 
Thus  to  see  thee  strive  in  vain 
For  escape  ;  for  I,  alas  ! 
Am  too  small  to  lift  the  glass. 
Mother  says  I  must  not  take 
Things  my  little  hands  might  break. 

Here  she  comes !  but  'tis  too  late! 
Thou,  poor  thing,  hast  met  thy  fate. 


110         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 




Motion  ceases  —  life  has  fled  — 
Dropping  on  the  table,  dead, 
Now  I  see  thee,  thoughtless  fly, 
'Twas  a  foolish  death  to  die ! 

"  Yes,  my  child,  in  careless  play, 
Thus  his  life  is  thrown  away. 
For  a  thing  that  pleased  the  eye 
He  rushed  onward  but  to  die  ! 
But  remember  —  there  was  none 
Warning  him  the  blaze  to  shun. 

"  If  thou  think'st  the  untaught  flies, 
For  their  errors,  so  unwise, 
Let  this  insect's  fall  be' hence 
From  temptation  thy  defence. 
On  thy  heart  a  picture  stamp 
Of  the  fly  about  the  lamp  !  " 


THE      BIBLE      IN      THE      FIELDS. 

I  love  to  take  this  holy  book, 
In  summer's  balmy  hours, 


POEMS      FOR      C  II  I  I.  1»  B  i:  X  .         Ill 


To  study  it  beside  the  brook, 
Or  by  the  trees  and  flowers. 

For  here  I  read  about  the  God 
Who  made  this  world  so  fair, 

The  skies  —  the  stream  —  the  grassy  sod 
And  bloom,  that  scents  the  air. 

The  birds  flit  round,  and  sweetly  sing 
Of  Him.  who  feeds  them  all. — 

Who  lifts  the  towering  eagle's  wing, 
And  marks  the  sparrow's  fall. 

The  violet,  from  its  soft  green  bed 

To  speak  his  goodness  too, 
Presents  its  tender,  purple  head 

Baptized  with  silvery  dew. 

And  here  the  busy  bee  I  view, 

As  she  comes  swiftly  by, 
And  seems  to  ask,  if  she  should  do 

More  work,  or  good  than  I. 

Her  waxen  house  betimes  to  build 
I  see  her  wisely  bent ; 


112         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


And  then,  with  bread  and  honey  filled 
To  have  it,  still  intent. 

The  bees  I  find  their  sweets  supplied 

In  wild  Judea's  land. 
To  feed  the  Baptist,  when  he  cried, 
"  Heaven's  kingdom  is  at  hand." 

And  when  our  Savior,  from  the  grave, 
Had  asked  his  friends  for  meat, 

He  ate  the  honey-comb  they  gave  ; 
And  showed  his  hands  and  feet. 

This  volume  of  his  will  revealed 

I  here  can  read  within, 
Behold  the  lilies  of  the  field  — 

They  neither  toilnor  spin  !  " 

And  yet  the  king  "  was  not  arrayed 

In  glory,  like  to  them  ;  " 
Their  Maker's  power  is  so  displayed 

In  flower  and  leaf  and  stem. 

And  he  sat  on  the  mountain's  side, 
Who  spake  these  blessed  words, 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.         113 


Before  him  flowery  fields  spread  wide 
Around  were  trees  and  birds. 


The  fleecy  flocks  that  roam  so  free 

On  hill  and  valley  deep, 
I  love  to  watch  :  and  here  I  see 

Tis  written,  i;  Feed  my  sheep." 

For  thus  I  seem  to  keep  in  view, 

And  feel  how  near  I  am 
To  that  dear  Friend  of  Children  who 

Has  named  himself  "  The  Lamb." 


WRITING     IN     HELENS     ALBUM,     ON 
HER      BIRTH-DAY. 

\<>w.  Helen  dear,  I  hear  thee  say, 
That  thou  art  six  years  old  to-day  ! 
So  I  will  set  my  record  here 
Of  thy  beginning  seventh  year. 
That  thou  in  after  days  may'st  find 
The  trace  which  this  has  left  behind. 

H 


114         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


This  morning  we  together  strayed 
'Mid  fern,  and  brake,  and  forest-shade  ; 
And,  with  thy  little  hand  in  mine, 
We  passed  the  rustling  oak  and  pine, 
Where  last  year's  acorn-cup  and  cone 
Among  its  withered  leaves  were  strown. 

The  nimble  squirrel,  climbing  high, 
Looked  down  on  us  with  curious  eye ; 
While  birds  amid  the  branches  sung 
Till  through  the  woods  their  music  rung: 
And  in  the  boughs  the  spicy  breeze 
Made  leafy  air-harps  of  the  trees. 

Round,  scarlet  berries,  ripe  and  sweet, 
Peeped  out  like  gems  beside  our  feet ; 
The  modest  harebell  bowed  beneath 
The  sweetbrier tall,  her  balm  to  breathe; 
And  many  a  little  floweret  wild 
Grew   low,  but   looked    to    heaven    and 
smiled. 


We  ventured  down  the  mossy  steep, 
That  edged  the  waters  clear  and  deep, 


P0EM8      FOR      CHILDREN.  115 


Where  blooming  Laurels  grew  b<  - 

The  Merrimack's  broad  silver  tide  : 
And  all  was  beauteous,  fresh,  and  fair, 
In  nature's  glory  Bhining  there. 

And  may  thy  future  days  be  bright  — 
Thy  heart  be  ever  pure  and  light, 
A-  when,  a  little  gladsome  child, 
I  led  thee  through  the  flowery  wild  : 
And  by  thy  prattling  tongue  was  told, 
That  thou  to-day  wast  six  years  old  ! 

In  other  days,  when  thou  may'st  see 
My  lace  no  more,  remember  me  — 
Remember,  that  I  asked  to-day 
Heaven's  smile  upon  thy  future  way  — 
That  'twas  thy  parent's  early  friend. 
And  thine,  who  this  memento  penned. 


LADY      MARY. 

Lady  Mary  was  able 
To  keep  a  good  table  ; 


116         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


And  what  was  still  better,  none  found  her 
Without  a  good  heart 
The  good  things  to  impart. 

Which  Providence  showered  around  her. 

She  was  prudent,  'tis  true  ; 

But  was  generous,  too, 
When  charity  called  for  her  money  ; 

And  she  ever  kept  by, 

Her  own  board  to  supply, 
Fresh  biscuits,  sweet  butter  and  honey  ; 

And  twenty  things  more 
That  we  '11  not  number  o'er, 

But  such  as  gave  comfort  to  many 
So  old,  lone  and  poor, 
That  at  home  she  felt  sure, 

They  had  very  little,  if  any. 

Then,  oft  as  there  came 

To  her  house  some  old  dame, 

So  feeble  she  scarce  could  walk  steady, 
Lady  Mary  would  say, 
"Take  your  cloak  off  and  stay, 

And  early  my  tea  shall  be  ready." 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  117 


So  pleasant  her  smile 

And  her  manners  the  while  — 

So  kind  was  the  welcome  she  gave  her, 
Her  modest  old  guest 
Would  be  put  quite  at  rest, 

And  stay  as  if  granting  a  favor. 

She  'd  laugh,  then,  and  chat, 

About  this  thing  and  that, 
And  seek  to  amuse  her  meek  hearer, 

As  social  and  free, 

While  she  poured  out  the  tea, 
As  if  some  great  duchess  were  near  her. 

When  the  moment  was  come 

For  her  guest  to  go  home, 
That  she  might  neither  want,  beg,  nor  borrow. 

She  'd  press  her  to  take 

A  nice  tart  and  a  cake, 
Or  something  else,  good  for  the  morrow. 

She  sometimes  would  go 
Soothing  words  to  bestow, 
With  gifts  and  kind  looks,  where  were  lying 


118         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


The  sick,  pale,  and  faint ; 
And  she  'd  kneel,  like  a  saint, 
In  prayer  by  the  bed  of  the  dying. 

Her  wish  was,  to  see 

All  as  happy  as  she  : 
And  she  knew  her  kind  deeds  so  to  vary, 

That  the  sad,  rich  and  poor, 

Said,  in  heaven,  they  were  sure, 
Was  a  place  for  the  good  lady  Mary. 


THE     TRAMMELED      FLY. 

Ah,  thou  unfortunate  1 

Poor  silly  fly, 
Caught  in  the  spider's  web  — 

Hung  there  to  die  ! 
What  could  have  tempted  thee  ? 

What  led  thee  there, 
For  the  foe  thus  to  throw 

Round  thee  the  snare  ? 

Struggling  and  crying  so 
Ne'er  can  unweave 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  119 


From  thcc  the  silken  threads 

Laid  to  deceive. 
Sorrow  for  wandering 

Conies  now  in  vain  ; 
And  with  one  thus  undone, 

Grief  adds  to  pain. 


Yet  I  will  rescue  thee, 

Unwary  thing ! 
Thou  may'st  again  be  off 

High  on  the  wing  ; 
If  thou  wilt  promise  me, 

Hence  to  be  found 
Never  more,  as  before 

On  evil  ground. 


Trust  not  the  flatterer 

Skilled  to  ensnare  : 
He  is  a  wily  one  ; 

Think,  and  beware ! 
Down  to  his  dusky  ways 

No  more  descend. 
Little  fly,  thou  and  I 

Want  each  a  friend. 


120        POEMS      FOE      CHILDREN. 


Man  hath  an  enemy  : 

His  snare  is  laid 
Softly  and  silently, 

Deep  in  the  shade. 
Light,  by  the  tempter  shunned, 

Only  can  show 
Where,  secure,  free,  and  pure, 

Our  feet  may  go  ! 


THE      WHITE      MOTH. 

Beware,  pretty  Moth,  so  unsullied  and  white, 

Beware  of  the  lamp's  dazzling  rays ! 
It  is  not  a  drop  of  the  sun,  but  a  light 
That  shines  to  allure  little  rovers  by  night ; 
Away !  there  is  death  in  the  blaze. 

0,  why  didst  thou  come  from  thy  covert  of 
green, 
The  vine,  round  my  window  so  bright ; 
And  pop  in  to  know  what  was  here  to  be 

seen, 
Forsaking    thy   shield,   and    escaping    thy 
screen, 
And  hazarding  life  by  the  flight  ? 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.         121 


The  down  on  thy  limbs  and  thy  bosom  so  pure 

That  flame  would  most  fatally  singe  : 
And  nothing  thy  beautiful  wings  can  insure 
From  harm  and  from  pain  beyond  mending 
or  cure, 
If  caught  by  their  delicate  fringe. 

Return,  giddy  wanderer,  safe  to  the  vine  ; 

And  breathe  in  the  fresh  evening  air  ; 
Go.  look  at  the  stars,  as  they  twinkle  and 

shine  ; 
And   cling   to  a  leaf,  or  the   tendrils   that 
twine, 
My  soft  little  eavesdropper,  there  ! 

And  then,  by  a  song  I  will  sing,  thou  shalt 
know. 
Why  thus  I  have  lifted  my  arm 
To  scare  thee  away  from  thy  luminous  foe, 
That  threw  out  its  beams,  as  a  snare,  and  a 
show 
To  tempt  the  unwary  to  harm. 

For,  I  through  the  day,  have  been  guarded 
by  One, 


122         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Who,  greater  and  wiser  than  I, 
Has  pitied  my  frailty  ;  and  forced  me   to 

shun 
Illusive  temptations,  where  I  might  have  run 

The  peril  of  sporting  to  die. 

;Twas  kindness  from  Him,  to  whose  care  I 
commend 
Myself  through  the  darkness  of  night, 
That  taught  me  so  quick  to  come  in,  as  a 

friend, 
Between  thee  and  evil,  thy  life  to  defend  ; 
Pretty  Moth,  so  unsullied  and  white. 


LITTLE      ELLEN,     AND   HER     BROKEN 
BASKET . 

As  Ellen  —  now  Ellen's  a  sweet  little  girl, 
An  infantine,  innocent  creature  ; 

With  cheeks  like  the  rose-petal,  teeth  like 
the  pearl, 
And  lovely  in  every  feature  ;  — 


As  Ellen  one  day,  all  equipped  for  a  walk, 
Went    forth    with    the    nurse,  from   her 
-  mother  ; 
And  looked  like  a  bud  that  was  broke  from 
its  stalk, 
And  lodged,  in  its  fall,  on  another. 


She  had  not  gone  far,  when  she  spied  on  the 
green, 

A  l»ird,  that  she  thought  had  just  lighted  ; 
The  largest  and  tamest  she  ever  had  seen, 

Which  seemed  neither  jealous  nor  frighted 


J 


124         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 

And  so,  from  the  hand  of  the  nurse  getting 
free, 
She  bounded  off  nearer,  to  watch  it. 
"  0  see  what  a  beautiful   creature ! "   said 

she, 
"  I  guess  little  Ellen  can  catch  it." 

Then,  running,  she  stepped  on  her  frock-hem, 
and  fell, 
Or,  as  sometimes  we  say,  made  a  blunder  : 
The  bird  raised  its  wings,  with  a  hideous 

yell, 

Which  capping  the  fall,  nearly  stunned 
her. 

And  Ellen,  intent  upon  catching  the  bird, 
Which  she  did  not  yet  know  by  its  feather, 

Came  down  on  her  neat  little  basket,  and 
heard 
Its  sides  crushed,  like  egg-shells,  together ! 

The  name  of  the  bird  may  not  here  be  of  use, 

Yet  some  little  querist  may  ask  it ; 
I  therefore  will  tell  you,  —  'twas  chasing  a 

Goose, 
That  spoiled  Ellen's  beautiful  basket ! 


POEMS   FOR   CHILD  REX.    1"2"> 


TO   ADELAIDE, 

WHO     GAVE     ME     THE     CAFK-JASMINE. 
[Written  in  her  Album.] 

A  .Jasmine  opening,  sweet  and  fair. 

Was  late  thy  gift  to  me  : 
And  naught  have  I,  that  can  compare 

With  this,  to  offer  thee. 

But  from  my  poet-spirit's  bower. 
Whose  paths  not  foot  can  trace, 

I  bring  this  little  dewy  flower 
Among  thy  leaves  to  place. 

And  when  these  earth-born  flowers  depart, 

As  spring  and  summer  fly, 
A  keepsake,  hold  it  in  thy  heart, 

So  it  may  never  die. 

Its  petals  are  perfumed  with  prayer, 
That  God  may  bless  thy  way-. 

And  give  his  holy  angels  care 
O'er  all  thy  mortal  days. 

For  life  with  thee  is  in  it-  Bpring  ; 
Its  landscape  fresh  and  bright  ; 


1 


126          POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


While  Hope  is  on  her  morning  wing, 
Nor  thinks  of  coming  night ! 


The  things  of  time  would  fain  possess 

Thy  soul  beyond  release  ; 
But  Wisdom's  ways  are  pleasantness  ; 

And  all  her  paths  are  peace  ! 

If  now  thy  heart  in  youthful  glow 

Devote  to  God  its  love, 
Through  shade,  and  storm,  and  frost  below, 

Thy  Star  will  shine  above ! 


THE      SNOW-FLAKE. 

"  Now,  if  I  fall,  will  it  be  my  lot 
To  be  cast  in  some  low  and  lonely  spot, 
To  melt,  and  to  sink,  unseen  or  forgot? 
And  there  will  my  course  be  ended  ?  " 
'Twas  this  a  feathery  Snow-flake  said, 
As   down    through   measureless   space   it 

strayed  ; 
Or,  half  by  dalliance,  half  afraid, 
It  seemed  in  mid  air  suspended. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDRKN.  127 


"Oh,  no!"   said    the    Earth,   "  thou   si^alt 
not  lie 
Neglected  and  lone,  on  my  lap  to  die, 
Thou  pure  and  delicate  child  of  the 'sky  ! 

For  thou  wilt  be  safe  in  my  keeping. 
But  then  I  must  give  thee  a  lovelier  form  ; 
Thou    wilt   not   be   part   of  the    wintery 

storm  : 
But  revive,  when  the  sunbeams  are  yellow 
and  warm, 
And    the   flowers   from   my  bosom  are 
peeping ! 

11  And  then  I  will  give  thee  thy  choice,  to  be 
Restored  in  the  lily  that  decks  the  lea  ; 
In  the  pure  jasmine-bloom,  the  anemone, 

Or  aught  of  thy  spotless  whiten- 
To  melt,  and  be  cast  in  a  glittering  bead, 
With  the  pearls  that  the  night  scatters 

over  the  mead, 
In  the  cup  where  the  bee  and  the  fire-fly 
feed, 
Regaining  thy  dazzling  brightness. 

'  I  '11  let    thee   awake    from  thy   transient 
sleep, 


•128  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


When  Viola's  mild  blue  eye  shall  weep, 
In  a  tremulous  tear  ;  or  a  diamond,  leap 

In  a  drop  from  the  unlocked  fountain  ; 
Or* leaving  the  valley,  the  meadow  and 

heath, 
The  streamlet,  the  flowers,  and  all  beneath, 
Go  up,  and  be  wove  in  a  silvery  wreath 

Encircling  the  brow  of  the  mountain. 

"  Or,  would'st  thou  return  to  a  home  in  the 
skies, 
To  shine  in  the  Iris,  I  '11  let  thee  arise, 
And  appear  in  the  many  and  glorious  dyes 

A  pencil  of  sunbeams  is  blending ! 
But  true,  fair  thing,  as  my  name  is  Earth, 
I  '11  give  thee  a  new  and  vernal  birth, 
When  thou  shalt  recover  thy  primal  worth, 
And  never  regret  descending !" 

"  Then  I  will  drop,"  said  the  trusting  flake  ; 
"But   bear   it   in   mind,  that  the   choice  I 
make 
Is   not   in  the   flowers,  nor  the   dew   to 
awake  ; 
Nor  the  mist,  that  shall  pass  with  the 
morning. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN'.  129 


For,  things  of  thyself,  they  will  die  with 
thee  ; 

But  those  that  are  lent  from  on  high,  like 

me. 
Must  rise,  and  will  live,  from  thy  dust  set 

free. 
To  the  regions  above  returning. 

If  true  to  thy  word  and  just  thou  art. 
Like  the  spirit  that  dwells  in  the  holiest 

heart, 
Unsullied  by  thee,  thou  wilt  let  me  depart. 

And  return  to  my  native  heaven. 
For  I  would  be  placed  in  the  beautiful 

Bow, 
From  time  to  time  in  thy  sight  to  glow, 
So   thou   may'st   remember  the  Flake  of 

Snow 
By  the  Promise  that  God  hath  given  !  " 


THE      WIDOW'S      ONLY      SON. 

She  wrapped  her  in  her  sable  cloak, 
And  walked  beside  the  sea  ; 

i 


130  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


But  seldom  of  her  sorrow  spoke, 
So  full  of  grief  was  she. 

'Twas  this  that  made  her  heart  so  sad, 

To  view  the  ocean  wide  :  — 
The  only  son  that  widow  had 

Went  out  to  sea  and  died. 

And  then  in  that  great  rolling  deep, 

With  solemn,  tearful  eyes, 
His   messmates  lowered   him   down,    to 
sleep 

Till  all  the  dead  shall  rise. 

But  where,  among  those  waters  vast, 
With  ceaseless  fall  and  swell, 

Her  child  to  that  repose  had  passed, 
The  mother  could  not  tell. 

She  therefore  questioned  wave  on  wave, 
That  heaving,  reached  the  shore, 

If  they  had  rolled  across  his  grave 
Whom  she  should  see  no  more. 

And  often  when  she  saw  a  ship 
With  home-returning  sail, 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.         131 


Would  ashy  paleness  Beize  her  lip, 

And  speech  and  vision  fail. 

For  oh !  she  thought  about  the  one 
That  spread  its  canvas  white, 

To  waft  away  her  only  son 
Forever  from  her  sight. 

But  still,  amid  the  bitter  grief 
That  wrung  that  widow's  heart, 

Her  bosom  felt  the  sweet  relief 
That  faith  and  hope  impart. 

She  knew  her  son  had  ever  kept 
The  path  to  Heavenly  rest ; 

That  when  he  sunk  in  death,  he  slept 
Upon  a  Savior's  breast. 

•  My  Heavenly  Father,"  she  would  say, 
"  The  deep  and  troubled  sea 
But  holds  from  me  the  precious  clay ; 
My  child  's  at  home  with  thee  !  " 


132         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


THE      CHILD'S      HYMN      TO      SPRING. 

Thou  lovely  and  glorious  Spring, 
Descending  to  us  from  the  sky, 

I  praise  thee  for  coming  to  bring 
Such  beautiful  things  to  my  eye  ! 

For,  bearing  thine  arms  full  of  flowers 
To  strew  o'er  the  earth,  hast  thou  come, 

Adorning  this  low  world  of  ours 
With  brightness  like  that  of  thy  home. 

And  thou  hast  brought  back  the  gay  birds, 
Their  songs  full  of  gladness  to  sing  — 

To  give,  in  their  musical  words, 
Their  sweet  little  anthems  to  Spring ! 

The  roots  thou  hast  watered  and  fed  ; 

The  leaves  thou  hast  opened  anew  ; 
The  violet  lifts  its  meek  head, 

And  seems  as  'twere  praising  thee,  too. 

The  hills  thou  hast  made  to  rejoice, 
And  all  their  young  buds  to  unfold  j 

The  cowslips  spring  up  at  thy  voice, 
And  dot  the  green  meadows  with  gold. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  133 


The  brooks  o'er  the  pebbles  that  run 
Are  sounding  thy  praise  as  they  go  ; 

The  grass  points  its  blades  to  the  sun, 
And  thanks  thee  for  making  them  grow. 

The  rush  and  the  delicate  reed 
Are  waving  in  honor  of  thee,  — 

The  lambkins  are  learning  to  feed  — 
The  honey-cup  's  filled  for  the  bee. 

The  butterfly  's  out  on  the  wing  — 
The  spices  are  out  on  the  breeze  ; 

And  sweet  is  the  breathing  of  Spring 
That  comes  thro'  the  blossoming  trees ! 

The  forest,  the  grove  and  the  vine 

In  festival  vestures  are  clad, 
To  show  that  a  presence  like  thine 

Is  making  them  grateful  and  glad. 

The  earth  and  the  waters  are  bright  — 
The  skies  are  all  beaming  and  mild  ; 

And  oh  !  with  unmingled  delight 

Thv  charms  fill  the  heart  of  the  child ! 


134         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Sweet  Spring !  'twas  my  Maker  made  thee, 
And  sent  thee  to  brighten  our  days ! 

Thine  aim  is  his  glory,  I  see :  — 
I  '11  join  thee  in  giving  him  praise. 

My  heart  seems  to  sing  like  the  birds  ;  — 
Like  blossoms  to  open  with  love, 

Which  God  will,  as  music  and  words, 
Receive  for  my  anthem  above. 


That  cold,  faithless  moon  looking  down  on 
the  wave ! 
How  dark  grows  my  heart  with  her  beam- 
ing ! 
And  yonder  she  smiles  on  the  new-covered 
grave, 
While   tears    drown    my   sight    in  their 
streaming. 

For  there  lies  my  father,  down,  down  in  the    j 
deep, 
O'er  whelmed  by  the  black,  heavy  billow ! 


POEMS      FOR      C  H  1  1.  D  B  E  N  .  1 35 


And  now  have  they  borne  off  my  mother,  to 
ep 
Where  damp  clods  of  earth  are  her  pillow. 

How   oft   did   she   kneel,  when    that   moon 
from  above. 
Hung  mild  o'er  a  calm,  sparkling  ocean  : 
And  lift  her  sweet  voice  in  thanksgiving  and 
love. 
To  Him  of  her  evening  devotion  ! 


And,  when  into  clouds  all  their  brightness 
was  east, 
With  looks  full  of  woe  and  imploring, 
She  bowed  like  a  reed,  at  the  rush  of  the 
blasl  : 
And  prayed  while  the  tempest  was  roaring. 

Then,  pale  at  the  noise  of  the  storm  and  the 
- 
While  tears  rolled,   as  crystal-drops  shi- 
ning 
She  threw  her  fond  arms  round  my  brother 
and  me. 
Her  trembling  to  stay  by  their  twining. 


136  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


But,  oli !  when  they  told  her  the  whole  fatal 
tale, 
By  silence  her  anguish  was  spoken ; 
She  heard  the  torn  bark  had  gone  down,  in 
the  gale  ; 
Then   sunk !    for   her  heart-strings   were 
broken. 

And  since,   when   I   see   the    bright   moon 
beaming  clear, 
With  stars  gathered  thickly  around  her, 
I  think  of  that  night,  when  no  ray   would 
appear, 
To  light  the  frail  bark  that  must  founder  ! 

The  sound  of  the  waves,  as  they  die  on  the 
shore, 
It  tills  me  with  sadness  and  sighing : 
To  me  they  bring  back   a  dear  father  no 
more  — 
They  show  me  a  mother,  when  dying. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  137 


THE      DESPOILED      II  U  M  M  I  N  G  -  B  I  R  D  . 

A  llmnming-Kird's  Mai   was  sent  me  from  a  distant  State, 

still  attached  to  the  twig  on  which  it  was  built.      A  lad,  prun- 

j    a   fruit-tree,  lopped  a  branch   without  perceiving  the  nest, 

till  he  saw  the  small  white  eggs  rolling  out  of  it  into  a  rivulet, 

1  <Mile  which  the  bough  fell.] 

Alas  !  pretty  rover,  thy  joys  are  all  over  : 
For  gone  is  thy  soft  downy  nest  from  the 
tree  ! 
With  loud  bosom  yearning,  thou  "It  seek  it 
returning, 
But.  poor  little  birdie !  thy  nest  is  with 
me. 

Yet.  not  of  my  doing,  this  deed  for  thy  rue- 
ing, 
Which  leaves  thee  in  anguish  thy  house 
to  deplore  : 
While  blessing  the  donor.  I  grieve  for  the 
owner ; 
And  fain  to  its  bough  would  thy  building 
restore. 

I  fancy  thee  coming,  with  light  pinions  hum- 
ming, 


138  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN  . 


Where  tiny  white  gems  thy  warm  cell  had 
impearled ; 
To  mourn  without  measure  thy  rest  and  thy 
treasure, 
For  ah  !  they   are   gone,   and  that  home 
was  thy  world. 

But  hadst  thou  forsaken  the  nest  that  was 
taken  ; 
And  left  it,  all  empty  and  lone,  on  the 
bough, 
With  joy  at  receiving  a  house  of  thy  leaving, 
I  never  had  felt  for  thee  sorrow,  as  now. 

Whilst  I  can't   replace   it,  perchance    thou 
may'st  trace  it, 
And  follow  the  scent  of  thy  house  from 
the  tree  : 
Then,  deem  me  not  cruel,  but  come,   little 
jewel ! 
And  find  thy  lost  treasure  in  quiet  with 
me. 

Xo  rudeness  has  marred  it,  nor  falling  has 
jarred  it  ; 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  139 


The  twig  of  thy  choosing  is  under  it  still  ; 
lt>  thatching  of  mosses  and  inlay  of  flosses 
Axe  just   as   composed  by  thy  labor  and 
skill. 


Thou  only    could'st  form  it ;  return,   then, 
and  warm  it 
Again  with  thy  breast,  letting  love  banish 
fear ; 
So,  when  thou  art  coming  at  eve  from  thy 
roaming, 
Thou  ?lt  know,  my  dear  birdie,  thy  home 
still  is  here. 

The  young  flowerets  blooming,  and  sweetly 
perfuming 
The  pure  air,  invite  thee  to  sip  from  their 
store  ; 
The  honey-cup  ?s  filling  !  to  come,  then,  be 
willing  ; 
I  '11   shield  thee  from  harm ;    thou    shalt 
sorrow  no  more ! 


140         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


TEACHINGS      OF      GOD. 

He  reigns  on  high,  a  glorious  King, 

In  ocean,  earth,  and  air  ; 
He  moves  and  governs  every  thing, 

For  God  is  every  where. 

The  waters  at  his  bidding  flow ; 

The  mountain  and  its  flower 
Their  majesty  and  beauty  show, 

As  traces  of  his  power. 

The  lilies  by  the  meadow  rills 

Are  leaning  on  his  hand  ; 
And  so  the  cedar  of  the  hills, 

The  palm  and  olive  stand. 

He  formed  the  birds,  that  sport  along 
On  light  and  brilliant  wing  ; 

And  tuned  them  with  the  voice  of  song 
And  joy,  his  praise  to  sing. 

This  earth  is  ours,  so  rich  and  fair, 
From  him.  who  made  it  thus  — 

Who  sends  his  angels  down  with  care 
To  minister  to  us. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  141 


The  rainbow,  with  its  beauteous  dies, 

A  pledge  to  man,  is  lent 
By  him,  who  spreads  the  shining  skies 

Around  him  "  as  a  tent." 

The  heavens,  my  child,  are  full  of  him ! 

Yon  radiant  sun  above 
Is  but  an  image,  cold  and  dim, 

Of  his  great  power  and  love. 

He  placed  that  glorious  orb  on  high, 

In  splendor  there  to  roll, 
To  warm  the  world,  to  light  the  eye  ; 

He  lights  and  warms  the  soul. 

And  lest  the  night  with  sable  shade 
That  azure  vault  should  mar, 

He  moved  his  finger  there,  and  made, 
At  every  touch,  a  star. 

With  these  the  moon,  his  beaming  gift, 

Here  lets  her  lustre  fall, 
Our  thoughts  to  win,  our  hearts  to  lift 

To  him,  who  gave  them  all. 


142 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


And  he  is  ours  —  that  Holy  One, 
Our  Father,  Guide,  and  Friend  ; 

In  ways  untravelled  by  the  sun, 
In  love  that  ne'er  shall  end. 

'Tis  sweet  to  worship  him  below  ; 
With  his  approving  eye 
To  mark  the  way  our  spirits  go 
To  seek  his  face  on  high. 


THE      MAN      AND      THE      MOUNTAIN. 

Mountain,  with  thy  firm  old  foot 

Fast  beside  the  sea, 
What  was  in  thy  keeping  put,  — 

Prisoned  under  thee  ? 

"Hark,  and  hear  the  shuddering  ground! 
.Feel  it  rock  and  quake  ! 
Struggling  fires,  beneath  me  bound, 
Strive  their  chains  to  break." 


Mountain,  with  a  cloudy  vest 
Girded  o'er  thy  heart, 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  143 


Does  it  pierce  thine  aged  breast, 
When  its  lightnings  dart? 

No  :  —  beneath  me  far,  the  crash 

Of  the  bolt  is  felt  : 
Here  the  fiery  chain  and  flash 

Bui  adorn  my  belt." 


Mountain,  with  a  snowy  crown, 

Stainless  od  thy  brow. 
Wilt  thou  never  cast  it  down  — 

Never,  never  bow  ? 

When  the  mandate  I  shall  hear 
From  my  Maker's  throne, 

1  will  bow  and  disappear, 
Hence  to  be  unknown.'" 

Mountain,  holding  proud  and  high 

Thine  old  hoary  head, 
What  is  written  on  the  sky, 

Thou  so  long  hast  read  ? 

Brighter  than  the  stars  and  sun 
Shining  over  me, 


144  POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


I  behold  the  name  of  One 
Thou  must  die  to  see !  " 

Mountain,  bold  thine  eloquence  — 

Glowing  is  thy  speech  ; 
Mighty  import  flashes  thence  ; 

What  is  it  to  teach  ? 

"  Thoughts  of  Him,  before  whose  breath 
I  shall  melt  away  ; 
While  of  thee,  soul  —  spirit,  death 
Ne'er  shall  quench  a  ray !  " 


POOR      M  A  R  I  A  N  N  A. 

Ah,  poor  Marianna !  the  scene  is  so  bleak, 
As  shivering  and  lonely  she  goes, 

The  wind  causes  half  the  big  tear  on  her 
cheek, 
While  round  her  it  whistles  and  blows. 

But  why  is  she  out  with  a  prospect  so  drear, 
Beneath  the  cold  lowering  sky  ? 

Methinks  is  the  question  which  many  appear 
To  ask  by  a  look  or  a  sigh. 


Of  poor  Marianna  but  sad  is  the  tale  ; 

For  she  is  the  fisherman's  child 
Who  climbed  up  the  rock  when  the  furious 
gale 

Turned  all  the  black  waters  so  wild. 

While  there  she  stood  trembling  and  pale 
on  the  cliff, 
And  reached  forth  an  impotent  hand, 
She   knew  'twas  her   father  far  out   in  the 
skiff, 
Hard  struggling  to  make  for  the  land. 

K 


146         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


Yet  wild  was  the  ocean,  and  sudden  the 
flaw 
That  kept  the  frail  boat  far  from  shore ; 
She  watched  the  reefed  sail  till  submerged, 
but  she  saw 
The  boat  and  her  father  no  more. 

The  sight  was  too  much  for  her  tender  young 
mind  ; 

She  shrieked  and  fell  faint  on  the  rock. 
A  ruin  of  reason  was  all  that  behind 

Remained,  ever  after  the  shock. 

When  found,  and  reviving,  all  trembling  and 
pale, 
The  fisherman's  poor  orphan  child 
Seemed  still  to  behold  his  lone  boat  in  the 
gale, 
'Mid  billows  all  gloomy  and  wild. 

Her  mind  is  unsettled,  and  roving  her  eye, 
And  sometimes  she  '11  harmlessly  roam, 

To  watch  the  light  figures  in  clouds  on  the 
sky, 
Or  near  the  sea-rocks,  in  the  foam. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  147 


She  plucks  purple  berries,  or  bright  scarlet 
haws, 
In  clusters  that  hang  on  the  stem, 
And  sits  by  the  sea-side  to  string  them  on 
straws, 
Then  throws  in  bright  tresses  of  them. 

And  when  the  sunned  waters  are  sleeping 
and  pure, 

She  asks  little  fishes,  thus  drawn 
So  near  she  can  see  them,  to  nibble  the  lure, 

To  show  where  her  father  is  gone. 

She  gathers  wild  flowers: — when  in  bou- 
quets they  're  tied 
She  throws  them  far  off  on  the  wave, 
And  bids  them  go  out  where  her  poor  father 
died. 
And  hang  sweet  and  bright  o'er  his  grave. 

In  autumn  and  spring,  in  her  mantle  and 
hood, 

When  clouds  are  portending  a  storm, 
She  gathers  light  faggots  and  pieces  of  wood, 

Herself  and  her  mother  to  warm. 


148  POEMS      FOE      CHILDREN. 


For  small  is  their  cabin  that  stands  by  the 
sea, 
Yet  far  less  convenient  than  small, 
The  wind  and  the  rain  in  a  storm  making 
free 
To  pour  through  the  roof  and  the  wall. 

And  oft  Marianna  must  shake  with  the  cold, 
For  she  is  but  scantily  dressed  ; 

While  gentle  she  is  as  the  lamb  in  the  fold, 
And  harmless  as  dove  in  its  nest. 

And  sometimes  she  sings  such  a  pitiful  strain, 
So  sweet,  and  so  melting  —  the  tear 

Would  gush,  and   your   heart  feel  strange 
pleasure  and  pain, 
Her  music  so  dirge-like  to  hear. 


Alas  !  it  is  mournful  and  solemn,  to  see 

But  ruins  of  reason  remain, 
And  know  the  affections  most  holy  to  be 

The  cause  that  disordered  her  brain. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  149 


THE      WHITE      COTTAGE. 

Come  here,  my  dear  Loui,  and  laugh  at  thy 

fear  ; 
The  bee  has  not  hurt  thee  ;  so  brush  off  the 

tear. 
And  silence  the  sob,  while  I  tell  thee  a  tale 
About  the  white  cottage  that  stood  in  the 

vale. 

Around  that  low  dwelling  sweet  eglantine 

grew, — 
Bright    golden-rod,    cowslip,    and     violets 

blue  : 
The  raspberry-bloom,  and  a  thousand  wild 

flowers 
Were  scattered,  or  clustered,  or  twined  into 

bowers. 

The  rich  honeysuckle  climbed  up  to  its  eaves  ; 

And  near  it  the  balm  spread  its  high-odored 
leaves  ; 

Green  trees  stood  around,  the  wingM  war- 
blers to  house, 

And  robins  and  yellow-birds  built  in  their 
boughs. 


150         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


And  there  the  bird  caroled  at  eve  and  at 

morn  ; 
And  brought  little  haws  they  had  plucked 

from  the  thorn, 
Or  wild  seeds  and  insects  they  'd  gathered 

for  food, 
To  drop  in  the  wide-open  beaks   of  their 

brood. 


Behind  the  neat  cot  stood  a  snug  little 
hive, 

Which,  had  you  peeped  in,  would  have  look- 
ed all  alive, 

At  twilight,  with  bees  in  a  swarm  on  the 
comb, 

Retired  for  the  night,  at  their  cellular  home. 


But  soon  as  the  day  dawned,  the  bees  issued 

out, 
To  fly  to  the  new-opened  flowers  all  about, 
Where,  making  their  bread  and  their  honey, 

they  thought 
Of  winter,  when  none  could  be  made,  or  be 

bought. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


151 


Then,  back  to  the  hive  with  their  treasures 

they  went, 
Where  all  brought  together  with  love  and 

content, 
The  fruits   of  their  labor,  in  one  common 

store 
To   save  for   the  future ;  and  hied  off  for 

more. 


While  thus  they  were  roving  on  air  through 
the  day, 

And  scattered  so  widely,  still  each  knew  the 
way 

That  led  to  their  dear  distant  home,  where 
at  night, 

They  all  met  together  in  peace  and  de- 
light. 


At  peace  with  mankind,  and  content  with 

their  lot, 
A  family  dwelt  in  that  snug  little  cot, 
While  known  free  from  envy,  and  ever  to 

thrive, 
As  busy  and  happy  as  bees  of  their  hive. 


152         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


And  forth  from  the  cottage  two  fair  little 

girls 
Would  run,  while  the  fresh  morning  breeze 

tossed  their  curls, 
With  joy  in  the  eye,  and  a  smile  on  the  lip, 
To  see  the  glad  bees  at  the  honey-cups  sip. 

Said  one  to  the  other,  "  How  charming  to  see 

The  flowers  yield  their  honey  to  breakfast 
the  bee, 

And  still  in  their  colors  and  fragrance  re- 
main 

As  perfect  as  ever,  and  free  from  a  stain." 

11  And  then,"  said  her  sister,  the  brisk  little 

bees 
That  range  through  the  bloom  of  the  plants 

and  the  trees, 
And  mind  their  own  business,  in  constant 

employ, 
Appear  every  moment  of  life  to  enjoy. 

"  They  like  not  that  others  should  come,  it 

is  true, 
To  meddle   with  them,  or  the  course  they 

pursue  ; 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.          153 


And  none  ever  learns  they  ve  a  sting,  by  its 

touch, 
But  those  who  have  troubled  or  vexed  them 

too  much." 


The  children,  those  sweet  little  sisters,  were 

seen. 
At  morn,  where  the  bee  fed,  at  eve,  on  the 

green 
The  fireflies  were  lighting  with  gem  after 

gem. 
To  bloom  like  twin  flowers  of  the  vale  on 

their  stem. 


PATTY      PROUD. 

The  figure  before  you  is  Miss  Patty  Proud. 

Her  feelings  are  lowery,  her  frown  like  a 
cloud. 

Because  proud  Miss  Patty  can  hardly  en- 
dure 

To  come  near  the  lowly  abode  of  the  poor. 


154         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN. 


She  fears  the  plain  floor  of  the  humble  will 
spoil 

Her  silk  hose  and  shoes,  and  her  skirt-bor- 
der soil ; 

And  so  she  goes  wincing,  and  holds  up  her 
dress 

So  high,  it  were  well  if  her  heels  would 
show  less. 

But,  when  she  walks  through  the  fine  streets 

of  the  town, 
She  puts  on  fine  airs,  and  displays  her  rich 

gown, 
Till  some  who  have  passed  her,  have  thought 

of  the  bird 
Renowned  for  gay  feathers,  whose  name  you 

have  heard. 

In  her  thought  she  is  trifling  ;  in  manner,  as 

vain 
As  that  silly  fowl  taking  pride  in  his  train  ; 
And  none  who  have  marked  her,  will  need 

to  be  told 
That  she  has  a  heart  that 's  unfeeling  and 

cold. 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


155 


I  saw  when  she  met  some  poor  children  one 
day, 

Who  asked  her  for  alms,  she  turned  frown- 
ing away, 

And  told  them,  "  poor  people  must  work  to 
be  fed, 

And  not  trouble  ladies  to  help  them  to 
bread." 


And  just  as  the  sad  little  mendicants  said, 
Their  mother  was  dying  —  their  father  was 

dead. 
She  entered  a  store  with  a  smooth,  smiling 

face, 
To   lay  out  her  purse  in  gay   ribbons  and 

lace. 

I  saw  her  curl  up  her  proud  lip  in  disdain, 
Because  Ellen  Pitiful  picked  up  the  cane 
A  feeble  old  blind  man  let  fall  in  the  sand, 
And  placed  it  again  in  his  tremulous  hand. 


But  little  does  haughty  Miss  Patty  suppose, 
Of  all   whom  she  smiles  on,  that  any  one 
knows 


156         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


How  sour  she  can  look  when  she 's  out  of 

their  sight, 
And  fret  at  the  servants,  if  all  is  not  right. 

At  home,  she's  unyielding,  and  sullen,  and 

cross : 
Her  friends  when  she  's  absent  esteem  it  no 

loss  ; 
And  some  where  she  visits,  in  secret  confess, 
That   they  love  her  no  more,  though  they 

dread  her  much  less. 

The  truth    is  —  Miss  Patty,  when    young, 

never  tried 
To  govern  her    temper,  nor  conquer   her 

pride. 
The  passions  unchecked  in  the  heart  of  the 

child, 
Like  weeds  in  a  garden  neglected,  ran  wild. 

They  grew  with  her    growth ;    with    her 

strength  they  grew  strong  ; 
Her  head  not  then  righted,  has  ever  been 

wrong  ; 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.         1  ")* 


Until  she  would  never  submit  to  be  told 
Of  faults  by  long  habit  made  stubborn  and 
bold. 

And  now,   among  all  my  young   friends,  is 

there  one  — 
A  tair  little  girl  is  there  under  the  sun, 
Who  'd  rise  to  a  woman,  and  have  it  allowed, 
That  she  is  a  likeness  of  Miss  Patty  Proud  ? 


THE      YOUNG      BENEFACTOR. 

Overshadowed  by  the  willow, 
Near  a  rippling,  silver  stream, 

Alvah  has  a  grassy  pillow  : 

Sweet  his  slumber,  bright  his  dream ! 

Well  may  he  in  peace  surrender 
To  the  balmy  power  of  sleep ! 

O'er  a  heart  so  warm  and  tender, 
Angel  eyes  their  vigils  keep. 

He  beheld  a  faint  wayfarer, 
Old  and  feeble,  poor  and  lone ; 


158         POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN 


Who  appeared  to  have  no  sharer 
In  the  woes  himself  must  own. 

Sitting  on  the  bank  that  edges 
Brightly  this  meandering  brook 

With  a  fringe  of  flowers  and  sedges, 
He  'd  a  needy,  suffering  look. 

Alvah  viewed  him,  filled  with  pity  ; 

And  resolved  to  lend  him  aid  ; 
Though  from  home  in  yonder  city, 

Far  for  wild-flowers  he  had  strayed. 

Quick  he  thought,  his  little  treasure, 
Given  to  him,  and  laid  aside — 

His  bright  coins  to  purchase  pleasure  — 
Now  might  wisely  be  applied. 

Home  he  ran,  to  seek  and  take  them, 
Out  of  breath,  with  moistened  brow  ; 

Thinking  he  could  never  make  them 
Surer  means  of  good  than  now. 

Swift  upon  his  way  returning, 
Over  fen  and  field  he  ran, 


POEMS      FOR      CHILDREN.  159 


Till,  with  feet  and  forehead  burning, 
He  rejoined  the  poor  old  man. 

Here,  his  little  gift  bestowing, 
While  a  joy  is  in  his  breast 

Worthy  of  an  angel's  knowing, 
On  the  turf  he  sinks  to  rest. 


Joy.  too  long  a  stranger  seeming 
In  the  wanderer's  hollow  eye, 

Speaks   his   thanks,   through   tear-drops 
beaming, 
While  his  words  in  utterance  die. 


There  he  sits,  beside  the  sleeper, 
Asking  God's  peculiar  care  — 

Blessings,  and  a  Heavenly  keeper, 
For  a  child  so  good  and  fair. 

Angel  guards  may  —  thus  assuming 
Forms  of  humble  souls  below  — 

Shroud  their  own,  too  bright  and  bloom- 
ing 
To  a  mortal  eve  to  show. 


160         POEMS      FOB      CHILDEEN. 


Oft  does  He,  "  the  King  of  Glory  v  — 
Once  "  the  Man  of  Sorrows  "  —  thus, 

In  the  poor  repeat  his  story, 
And  the  tale  of  Lazarus. 

Now,  with  pleasure  pure  and  holy, 
He  regards  this  peaceful  child, 

Pillowed  on  a  bed  so  lowly  — 

Slumbering  7mid  the  flowerets  wild. 


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